Half-truths, Whole Lies
by historicallylate
Summary: The Nutcracker, Andy, Sharon and a 'what if'... A silly Nutcracker scenario as per request. Set after "All In", spoilers through S3.
1. Chapter 1

**Half-truths, Whole Lies**

For Sharon, there still remained one question even in the middle of these fancy surroundings. It was the simplest, the most complex one: why? Andy had been acting strange the whole day, well the previous one too, and, if possible, he was acting stranger now. Stranger by the course. Stranger by the minute.

There was also the 'why' of the dinner in the first place. Not that she minded having dinner with him, but it really was superfluous. A night at the ballet was more than enough, it was no hardship on her part.

However, he had insisted, so again, no hardship on her part. Dinner was dinner and she had to eat. Though company who was not jumpy and preoccupied, barely able to hold a conversation, would have been appreciated.

Having put up with his behavior all through the entrées and mains, she was damned if she was going to let him ruin the dessert too. The warm cup of coffee between her hands strengthened her resolve nicely.

"Andy, what's wrong?" she pried with the gentlest tone she could muster.

"Everything's fine."

To say he ate his dessert shiftily would have been a light description. Minimizing the distractions, she put down her cup.

"Let's try again. Do you care to tell me what's wrong or do you want to keep lying?"

Andy raised his eyes to make contact with hers. Perhaps if he stared long enough, she would relent.

Unwittingly Sharon had stumbled on the issue over which he was already feeling bad enough. Coming out with it would probably make things even worse, he mused. However, if he was being honest with himself, she clearly knew already something was going on. Her eyes and the way they seemed to see straight through him worked to confirm his suspicions. The small narrowing thing they did finally broke the flimsy remains of his resolve.

"Alright, but don't get mad."

The defensiveness in Andy's tone mingling with the ripe resignation that simply oozed out of him didn't bode well. Not many times in the history of the Universe had a man told a woman not to get mad if there was no reason to do so. Suddenly the flash restaurant Sharon had thought a funny and sweet (and utterly unnecessary) gesture appeared foreboding and dangerous.

"This doesn't sound good," she concluded out loud with a feeble effort at an amused chuckle.

"It isn't. And I apologize for that," he hastened to add.

The explanation he launched into was meandering with stops and starts and little coherence. It took her a minute to understand what he was actually trying to say with his flurry of words. The issue, as far as she grasped it, was that his family thought they were seeing each other, socially. Romantically, even.

That left her speechless.

Andy appreciated how Sharon let him finish without interruptions. Quietly she listened through every word, her face giving nothing away. Well, perhaps displeasure, but that was an easy conjecture even for a blind man.

The silent stare she directed at his way after he had exhausted all the words he could think of he didn't appreciate. It was positively squirm-inspiring.

"What did you tell them?" she finally asked, the manner of her question still foreign to him.

"Nothing! Honestly, nothing."

"So they arrived at the conclusion that I am — that we're involved, completely unaided?"

"Well, I might have sort of — implied — that we were seeing each other. Which, technically we are, five days a week. Kind of," he trailed off, his explanation sounding false even to his own ears.

"I am guessing there was a question that made you realize your — implication." Andy didn't like the way she said 'implication', but before he got his mouth open to comment anything, she blocked him with both gestures and words, "I don't want to hear it." She returned to staring at him and he tried not to waver. "Tell me, how did you see this going?"

"Badly. In fact, a lot like it is going this far."

"I meant your scheme. Christmas is coming. I assume they would expect me to be somewhere and I wouldn't. One or two 'something's come up's could be understandable, but what then? New Year's? What about Easter? Sooner or later they would put two and two together."

"Hopefully by then I had the nerve to tell them the truth and they would trust me enough to forgive."

The omission of the two other options of how he could get the appropriate results were evident in his mind, but not appropriate for saying out loud.

"So you didn't think?"

"No, I didn't think," he bit out clearly getting irked. Her pointed look made him breathe out the main brunt of it, after all, all his own doing. "Going along was easier and when they thought something had changed for me to have a relationship with som—," he paused unexpectedly trying to think of a more roundabout way of saying what he thought, but abandoning it for the truth. He owed her that much. "— with someone who seemed better than just one of my usual flings, well, I exploited the chance, plain and simple. I'm sorry I did it, but I'm not sorry for wanting the results. The results I got."

The force of his latest explanation gave her pause.

"I make you look good?"

"Oh yeah."

Sharon took his admission as inadvertent, but it still made her face tingle. Good thing for coffee cups in which to bashfully hide your just as inadvertent unschooled smiles.

While she concentrated on her dessert, he concentrated on watching her. Andy had no clue how mad or hurt she was. Actually, he wasn't even sure if she was angry or hurt.

When she glanced at him, he offered, "You know you can go, right? My lie, my mess."

"I know." Relaxing back against the chair's backrest, she sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"

Helplessly he shrugged. Hopefully nothing too harsh.

She studied him, twirling the cup around between her fingers.

So what someone thought they were seeing each other in contexts other than they actually were? If only he didn't say anything that was an outright lie... And he was right. Sometimes the end justified the means. The question was, who was hurt here? Her pride. Which didn't matter. At least he had ambushed her now, alone — though in public as if he had expected a scene, instead of letting his family do it.

Which was the smaller harm, him not getting to reconnect with his family or his family getting misled into thinking there was something between them? Strictly speaking, there indeed was something between them: a collegial friendship. A friendship she was not averse to keep or deepen. It was somewhat petty if his family was willing to give him a chance based on the other relationships he had. One relationship in particular.

What if the roles were reversed? What if she was the ex being misdirected, hers were the kids their father was trying to reconnect with?

Would she mind if Jack used a friend to help him have a better relationship with his kids?

"Alright."

Andy's eyes snapped to focus. "'Alright' what?"

"I'm saying, alright. We can't control what someone else thinks of me coming to see a ballet with you. This is not the place or the time for you to come clean."

"You know they will be thinking 'Dad and his girlfriend'?"

She didn't acknowledge his effort to dissuade her, just jumped ahead to stating the rules. "This is strictly a favor from a friend to another, just to tide you over, are we clear?"

"Yes, of course."

"No embellishments, no further lies and no one else knows."

"Well —"

"And no calling me your girlfriend if you can avoid it. Even if it comes after the words 'not my'."

Andy waited for a few seconds to see if he could get some words in without her interrupting. When nothing else seemed forthcoming, he tried reasoning with her, "Sharon, you can't get sucked into my family drama. You've been kind enough to —"

"If there comes a point where you can clear the misunderstanding with minimal penalties, you do it. I am your friend and you will tell your family that."

Again he waited. Apparently she could take her time, even in the middle of a lecture.

"If you're sure," he finally ventured to say.

"I am. You want to make amends, you deserve the chance. If giving you that chance requires a friend of yours to have dinner with your family, dinner she shall have. It's nobody's business what our relationship is, what it entails." Sharon paused to take a breath, to think if there were any more points to reiterate. She eventually came across one. "But absolutely no more lying," she repeated. Grabbing the bill from the small tray in front of her, she proffered it at his direction. "And you're paying."

"I —" Seeing her sly smirk, he accepted the bill and gave up on commenting that he was always going to pay. The issue seemed settled, her decision made. Nothing else to say, so he closed the issue as well. For now. "Thank you, Sharon. I really appreciate this."

"So you should. And whatever you do, you do not — not — screw this up."

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><p><strong><strong>AN:** **_Will Andy screw up? You'll find out soonish. Two versions available: short (read only the last ch when this is completed!) or long (lighter)._

_This is one of my Nutcracker scenarios. _The request: a 'Sharon goes along with the lie' scenario (even if this is, most likely, not how it played out). Flippin' difficult! :D __

_Silly little thing to make a sick girl happy(er), thanks for reading, hopefully at least one of you will enjoy._


	2. Ballet, 2 of 3

**A/N:** _This is the long version. If interested in the short one, hold off from reading until the last chapter. :) It'll be slightly more 'serious' than the long one.  
>Thanks for reviews and adds, they mean a lot!<em>

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><p><strong>Ballet, part 23**

Determined not to screw anything up, Andy practically held his breath for the rest of the night. One thing was sure. There was no need for added cardio.

The fail-safe plan he had formulated and applied since the first pleasantries following their arrival at the ballet was quickly foiled by Sharon. After he had directed her to the cloakroom, waited up outside the powder room, come up with six very important statues and paintings she absolutely had to see as far away on other floors of the building— but before he had the time to take her to get another drink — she stopped him with a hand on his arm and a squint at her half-full glass.

"A little tip, Andy?" The length of the look he offered her barely transmitted quizzicality. "If you keep dragging me away from your family, there is hardly any point for me being here."

"Sharon, they might —"

"They might. Or they might not. Who cares?"

Andy cared. A lot. He really didn't want to see an all-out brawl over the word 'girlfriend' or snide remarks about 'nice catches' and 'new baits' or whatever his ex wanted to bring up.

However, the intent staccato of Sharon's heels pausing only for the moment it took her to throw a 'are you coming or not?' squint at his way told him whatever was coming, was well and truly going to come. He was but one man with no way of stopping anything when it came to determined women. Still, he tried with a silent plea to whatever higher powers willing to guard him.

Arriving in the company of his family only seconds after Sharon he was surprised to find out they were already in the middle of amicable, and very light-hearted, chatting. If he had been the one arriving first, the chat would have not been light-hearted nor amicable as much as it would have been an accurate reenactment of the Inquisition.

If he was honest with himself, this should have been the reason to ask her to come with him again.

Thus it was no surprise the same thing happened again, only a second after the curtains closed for the intermission. Sharon was already deep in conversation with Nicole by the time they exited to the bright lights and smells of coffees in the hallway. It came very close to dragging Sharon away by her waist to get her step aside for refreshments and a little conversation. Not that his son-in-law wasn't trying to do the same thing to his daughter; after all they were supposed to quickly check on the boys backstage.

Sharon's first response to Andy's odd behavior was a squint he had become very well acquainted with over the years. It only took him a quick whisper of an explanation to get her on the same page and to willingly join him in the line for refreshments. After she detoured to ask what everyone else wanted. Andy had a deep craving to roll his eyes at her good manners. She knew it: he was rewarded with another squint.

Waiting their turn in the slow-moving line, it was all small talk. Andy briefly wondered how many variations of the same conversation were hidden in the clamor around them. Safe topics, idle talk. He noticed how Sharon tried to hide her enthusiasm, excitement, in curt replies and generalities. Instantly he was driven to coax more out of her and by the time they were one but next in line she had turned to face him, speaking with her hands. The finer details of what she was saying were a little hazy to him, but what the hell, he could listen.

Unconsciously her right hand started snaking in her purse and brought up the corner of her wallet.

He interrupted whatever she was saying by pointing at her hand.

"And that goes away right now."

"Halfs?"

"What happened to 'you're paying'?"

"A very good ballet," she answered with a smirk. "But you're right." Gesturing him forward with a flapping motion, she added, "Carry on. I'll be the runner."

Sharon greeted the attendant and started listing the order.

When the items started gathering on the counter, she arranged them swiftly and meticulously on a tray.

"You look like you have experience with that," Andy pointed out watching her evaluating gaze and sure actions, "Waitressing."

"How did you expect I could pay for a dress like this if not filling my generous free hours doing a little outside employment?"

Her dry joke was punctuated with a glance over his shoulder. Sharon immediately noted one pointed, one wondering gaze directed at Andy's arm that had, at some point, come to rest on her back. Turning to accept a glass of white wine she stepped closer to hide behind Andy's bulk and tried to swallow very persistent giggles.

Andy had no clue what that was all about. The immediate thought was that someone had pushed her closer, but then he heard the great efforts she put into not laughing.

Not laughing over something about which he had no idea.

"What?"

"I'll tell you later," Sharon almost whispered.

Glancing around and not seeing anything even remotely funny, he tried catching her eye.

"Sure?"

"I'll tell you in the car."

Since nothing more was forthcoming, before paying, Andy stepped aside to usher her off with the completed order on a well balanced tray.

As she passed, seeing the number of cups and glasses, he made quick calculations.

"Sharon?" he gently called after her, waiting for her to twirl around before asking, "What do you want?"

"Same thing as you."

Although it came without hesitation, he quirked a brow. She tilted her head and nodded. His hands rose in a 'fine by me' gesture.


	3. Ballet, 3 of 3

**A/N:** _bwie66, thank you, I'm so glad. :D I was really unhappy to post ch2 since it was such an undeveloped set-up for later (ie. a filler)..._

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><p><strong>Ballet, part 33**

After saying their goodbyes, Andy wondered about the barely there titter Sharon had let escape the moment he had started guiding her out of the theater. It reminded him of intermission. Her odd laughs, for apparently no reason. Well, she had promised to tell him later.

"What did you laugh about earlier? At intermission?" Andy leaned closer to ask. Steering her gently closer to steer her through the crowd, Andy moved his hand from between her shoulder blades to rest on her upper arm.

"You didn't see the looks?" Sharon asked with a definite look of her own.

"What looks?"

"The ones your family pinned to your arm. Probably are doing so right now behind our backs." It didn't seem to clear anything. "Well you had to know they were there."

"Why would they watch my arm?"

"Because it was resting on my back almost the whole time. Your kids clearly didn't know what to think, but be glad your ex-wife didn't find anything sharp lying around. I have never seen anyone stare at someone's arm that much!" she added with a small chuckle.

"I had no clue."

Apparently he has none right now either, Sharon thought with some wryness.

"You have good instincts," she said patting the hand resting on her arm. His scowl kept the rare form, so she reiterated her point, "Your ex-wife. A hand on my back, a protective gesture? And this is even more so, practically an embrace."

Andy's eyes flicked from hers to the hand he was 'embracing' her with. He let go of her, throwing in an embarrassed looking away and few inches worth of distancing. A muffled 'sorry' made her laugh.

"You really did say something to make them think we were together. Well, more together."

This time, reaching the car, the apology came with eye contact and truly apologetic look.

"Sharon, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. This is quite entertaining." Her smile was, if not truly wide, at least unrestrained as she deleted the distance he had tried to create. Conspiratorially she leaned even closer, rested her hand on his arm and admitted, "I might have an odd sense of humor."

It was an odd thing to say. The whole evening had been odd. Her reactions were odd.

Andy couldn't formulate a proper answer, so he let the admission slide and opened the door for her.

Circling the car to the driver's side, he swiftly checked the surroundings. People coming and going, getting into their cars and driving off, others coming to collect spouses, kids, total strangers. He saw Nicole putting sports bags full of dancing gear into the booth of their car almost all the way across the lot. She saw him and they exchanged feeble waves.

Getting in his seat, he saw Sharon tilting her head quizzically. Saying only his daughter's name got a reply of a smile and a nod.

He liked that. Very much.

"They liked you. Very much," he said out loud driving off.

"Of course, what's not to like?"

"Yeah."

Sharon was dismayed at the somber reaction all her efforts at joking warranted. Her eyes drifted to Andy's knuckles gripping the wheel.

"Relax, Andy. It's done now. Yeah, it might not have gone according to all the social etiquettes, but the mistake is done, now you need to focus on moving forward. You might have lied about one thing, but..." That gave her pause. Was there really any reason for her to believe this was the only thing Andy lied about? "At least you told me," she concluded more firmly than she felt. "Maybe I will make you pay, maybe not."

Seeing the deer in the headlights look Andy shot her way reminded her of obviously misjudging his appreciation of the funny. On some level it annoyed her.

"Oh come on, lighten up!"

"Sharon, if you don't mind me saying it, but you don't strike me as a person who is okay with lies."

"I'm not."

"So, would you please excuse me if this whole things sounds scary. Weird."

It was, wasn't it? Essentially playing someone's girlfriend at her age was weird. Having no serious qualms about it was even weirder. Weirdest of all was the fact that she had no ironclad explanations, no grand excuses, for doing it. Nor did she had a firm understanding of what doing all of this entailed. No knowledge of a further plan. Bottom line? She wanted to do it.

"The one thing you need to know about me," she slowly started to reason, "is that I always want things to work out for deserving people. If, like in this case, it requires, pushes, you to let out a white lie, I'll take it. I myself am not above some subterfuge if it serves a greater good, as you very well know."

"Yeah. Still."

His eyes barely even flicked to her direction. For even less than a person driving a car could reasonably afford.

Sharon wanted to sigh.

"Andy, what is the amount we are really lying here? You yourself said we are seeing each other, five days a week, albeit not socially. We are friends, of opposite sexes. We do enjoy being together. We talk. We share interests, even friends. The only two things, as far as I can pinpoint, between their perception and the reality is that, one, we are really friends and not just too lazy to name the relationship, and two, we are not sleeping together nor do we share any other types of physical intimacy.

"In other words," she continued her analysis, "if you want to see it, we have the look of an item, but we both know that at the end of the day we are not. I am married, you have your own life. I don't even know if you do have a girlfriend! Or whatever you call them. If you do girlfriends in the first place. Or if —" Realizing she sounded more disrespectful by the word, Sharon fought the urge for embarrassed giggles by glancing out of the side window, letting her hair cascade forward to hide the side of her face. "Okay, I'll stop now, I'm already in a hole deep enough. I'm sorry."

For the first time, Andy actually laughed. He waited for her to face forward again, before replying, "No need. No, I don't have girlfriends other than you." He glanced at her and she reprised the maneuver she did earlier. It made him smirk harder, before focusing on the rest of the reply, "'Girlfriend' is fine for a hypothetical person. No, I don't do them. Or more like, they don't do me. Flings and girlfriends are very different things. Last girlfriend I had... Well, let's say years ago and leave it at that."

Seeing Sharon's hard confidence crumble for the first time since the start of the evening was very liberating for Andy. It made him reckless, ready to even tease her a little.

"What about your last boyfriend?"

Surprisingly she answered with a serious stare.

"Fake or real?"

"You've had other fake boyfriends?"

"Oh, plenty." Her gaze didn't waver, not even when it turned playful and her tone softened. "So stick with me, I'm well experienced."

"I'm sure." Andy tried for an unimpressed smirk, but suspected, by the devilish widening of her smile, he might have failed with the 'un'. "So?"

"Fake, Dave Hamilton. High school, Senior year. Pretended to be his girlfriend so we could make out and get a friend of mine jealous."

"Did it work?"

"Yeah. They've been married since college."

"Real?"

"You need to ask a married woman that?"

He almost said yes, seeing that the said woman was long separated, but didn't want to show any disrespect, so kept his suspicions to himself.

"Fair point."

They both were happy with the companionable silence that took over. Without question Andy drove the car all the way to guest parking and when he turned the engine off, he finally noticed Sharon staring at him with an oddly studious look.

He waited.

Probably two minutes later, she laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"This. Us. You did a great job avoiding that word by the way. Are we insane?"

Andy's lips quirked up with amusement at her thinking. She asks that now, after hours in to doing whatever they were doing?

"Yeah. You especially."

She didn't laugh at his levity, but neither was she looking offended. Instead, she reverted to more studying.

"How will this end?" she asked seriously.

"Don't ask me."

Andy was sure he was in for another long seconds of studying, but a muffled slam of a car door woke up the situation.

"Well, tonight ends here," Sharon said gathering her things. "Thank you, the ballet was lovely."

"Wait up, I'll walk you to your door."

She paused long enough to ask, "This is not a date, remember?"

She bit off the quip she had in mind to add ('there will be no fond goodbyes at the door'). That kind of joking was still a bridge too far in his current state.

"How do you know I don't walk Provenza to his door after a game?"

"You probably do, if he's drunk enough. I'm fine," Sharon affirmed quickly getting out of the car before he could get up. "Thank you, Andy, I'll see you at work."


	4. Christmas Blues

**Christmas Blues**

The evening of The Nutcracker debacle had loosened something in their relationship. Good or bad, it remained yet to be seen.

Andy had started, on rapidly increasing frequency, to feel like 'Andy' around Sharon. Sometimes when he heard her say his name he almost forgot it probably was some sort of a team building trick learnt on totally unnecessary Human Resources Management seminars. Well, maybe your girlfriend should mean it when she called you by your first name.

Girlfriend. He had reached the point where thinking it alone was becoming funny. What the hell had he been thinking!

He had not, was the established fact. Sharon was very kind to not bring it up since.

His family, on the other hand, not so kind. Nicole called the very next day to tell him they looked 'sweet' together. If she had anything else to say on the call, Andy had been too shocked to register.

He hadn't, of course, told Sharon that. She would laugh, Andy was sure. It was embarrassing enough to think what he had done with his hands to make them look 'sweet' together without realizing, doubly more so knowing she very well knew while he was doing it.

However, Andy knew four things during the week before Christmas. Sharon needed the laugh. Sharon was looking quieter and more withdrawn by the day. He saw it, because she really wasn't as serious as she appeared to be. He should do something to bring out that distinction between her on and off duty personalities.

One such opportunity raised its head on Wednesday.

During the lull of waiting for more information, Andy walked to the breakroom in a search for a caffeinated pick-me-up. He was pleased to note Sharon had the same idea while everyone else had not. At least an opportunity to gauge her mood, if not help.

Andy closed the door behind him and Sharon looked up. That was all the greeting needed.

"How are things?" he asked straightaway. No sense in wasting chances.

"Which things?"

"Life, in general."

"So you heard about me and Rusty having words?"

He hadn't, but could guess the general debating point. It probably had revolved around third options, undercover operations, youthful impatience and motherly love. Happy Holidays.

"I guess the 'how' shouldn't be a surprise," she expanded, "We are both stressed. Unimpressed. Tired enough to speak in verse and not give an —"

Laughing, Andy stopped her with upturned palms.

"I get it."

Sharon's smile crumbled into a sad expression she directed at the folder open in front of her.

"The kids aren't coming. I'm not going."

Andy nodded. Finding out the case of her troubles was very easy. Christmas. Not going to be a happy time for her this year. One kid fighting the valiant fight against threats and scumbags meant the other two should forget everything about Christmas. It probably was the only rational course of action to find in the situation. Still, not a sunny call to make. There wasn't many things to say now.

Leaving her to either hiding the turmoil in her folder or getting back to her reading, Andy went to get that coffee. He contemplated her, her mood and the situation. Should he come out and tell her about Nicole's call? Would that be enough to cheer her up? How many tiny efforts like that it would take?

A free evening wouldn't go amiss, he thought. A proper thank you for the less than stress free night at the ballet. For all the stupid-ass things he made her do.

Sharon clearly enjoyed the ballet part. And, maybe it was saying something about her sense of humor, but the rest of the evening too seemed to make her laugh more than anything. He had lucked out there.

And she clearly loved talking about ballet. The moment he had prodded her to let loose, Sharon had become animated forgetting about everything else.

Maybe he could try that trick again. A dinner, a ballet she hadn't seen a million times. Five hours away from the house, away from staring at Christmas decorations.

Sounded like a good plan.

How he should approach the issue was a little unclear, but he was sure it would come if he just jumped in.

Sliding to sit across from her, Andy waited for Sharon to look up. As soon as she did it, he tried a little smile and noted how she didn't really respond. No matter, he was going to make the offer anyway.

"I was thinking... Since Provenza said you've seen The Nutcracker probably a million times, that... On account of your daughter and all."

Not really smooth. Still, it was an opening and it earned him a small smirk.

"I haven't. Yes, she's danced in it probably hundreds of times. Still doesn't mean I've seen it." Wistfully she paused to stare at the distance. Nostalgia was the only reason Andy could think of behind that smile connected with the far-away look. "When she was smaller, I was running around trying to find the correct shade of hairpins or hairspray with the correct sheen to suit the tights. Things that dance moms do," she cleared with a wider smile and a shrug. "Then suddenly she was a grown-up dancing on the other side of the continent."

"They grow up fast," he replied without forethought. Saying things like that were bound to get her thinking about said girl not coming home for Christmas. "I mean, mine has kids that dance!" he corrected.

Sharon pursed her lips at that and he read it as a clear sign of hiding her amusement. Good, going to plan. Even if she was talking about... did she say hairpins?

"Hold on. There are right and wrong shades of hairpins? And where does tights and hairsprays come together?"

She chortled trying very hard not to laugh at Andy's adorable cluelessness. Clearly not a well-schooled parent of a daughter in dance classes.

"Leotards and frilly skirts is the extent of your ballet knowledge, isn't it?" she managed after series of swallows.

"Weird flat-pointed shoes too."

She was clearly laughing at him, but no matter. Only a short step away from laughing with him.

"Ask your daughter for pointers. Dance parents talk. And if on the off-chance the boys ever venture in the wonderful world of en pointe, be prepared to hear about shellacs and talks and sewing ribbons until you weep," she sighed with a supporting eye roll.

Andy looked puzzled, so her fingers resting on the table did a short series of steps on the pads before raising to do the same few steps on the tips of her nails.

Pretending not to notice, he asked, "You sew?"

"Are you actually asking that?"

The smirk she couldn't hide as she reached for her cup told him Sharon unsurprisingly saw right through the attempt to cover his ignorance.

Between two sips she fixed him with an appraising look over the edge of her cup. Andy was clueless to the thinking between her look. He was left wondering, when she returned to the documents she had been reading.

A minute later she looked up and threw Andy a smile. It made him realize he had forgotten to finish the question he set out to ask. He was getting too hesitant for his own good. At least Sharon had forgot about work for two minutes. Ballet was good, even in words only.

Ballet and good were two things he hadn't thought of once in the same sentence even a year ago. Things truly changed.

He cleared his throat and Sharon looked up. When he didn't say anything, she smiled again and went back to work.

Flipping a page, she again glanced up in his direction and before starting with the new page, offered him a tiny fraction of a smile.

Later, reaching for pen, her eyes darted up once more before she went to scribble something on the margin.

"I'm doing important thought-work," Andy told her already bowed head.

She glanced at him over her glasses and raised a well-manicured brow.

"Not just drinking coffee here."

Going back to her file, Sharon scoffed. "Do whatever you like."

He was about to defend himself but noticed how her lips curved into a sliver of a smile.

Now there was free rein. Whatever he liked. It deserved some thought.

Slightly concerned he came to the conclusion that he couldn't come up many better options that to sit in silence and enjoy his cup of coffee. Was that a sign of being burnt out or getting old?

He should get out more. And not just shopping with Provenza. Or picking him up from a bar.

When had it come to this?

It was the question still on his mind when Sharon stood up, flipped the file closed and took her cup away.

She was already leaving and he never got around to present his plan of cheering her up. Should he blurt it out now or wait for a better opportunity?

Shouldn't he say something at least?

Sharon grabbed her file and pen on her way out. She met Andy's eyes and again that sliver of a smile teased her lips.

"Why off-chance?" he asked while she was still there, their conversation relatively fresh in their minds, "Boys and the pointed world?"

"En pointe." Chuckling she, mostly unconsciously he presumed, raised her heels off the floor for the next few steps. "Men don't usually dance en pointe. Didn't you notice? Some do just to see what's the big deal or to build strength. But generally, very rare." Already reaching for the door, she turned around, sans levity, as if remembering something. "You should take your daughter and the boys to see a ballet where there are en pointe parts for men."

"Take us?"

It came out without thinking. A reasonable request, since her knowledge was so much more detailed. Never mind that somewhere in the past fifteen minutes his good intentions to ask her out for a night at the ballet had executed a perfect belly flop.

"I —"

She paused to consider. Very shortly, her expression soft, Andy was pleased to note.

"Sure, if they would like to go. Maybe it's not their thing at all."

"Well, then you're taking only me."

The furrowed brows clearly communicated her silent questioning.

Andy feigned ignorance, since he was not ready to admit that perhaps he wasn't that into ballet. However, he was quickly finding that seeing Sharon talk about ballet was starting to feel like his thing.


	5. Christmas Eve

**Christmas Eve**

Trying to cheer someone up on Christmas in a situation where Sicilian defence sounded like hassle-free fun had its problems.

When Andy received the call to inquire if he happened to manage a dinner party on Christmas Eve — and oh, could he bring his girlfriend along — his one honest answer was 'I don't know, probably not this late'. Complex and annoying (two words he had heard to describe the Sicilian defence from Rusty) weren't even beginning to describe the defence he needed to conjure.

His first idea was not to tell Sharon.

His second idea was to tell her and laugh about it.

His third idea was to ask her.

His fourth idea, and the one he finally went with, was to tell Nicole Sharon couldn't make it, not tell Sharon about it and laugh about it alone.

Only thing was, he forgot the word 'alone'.

Which led to the second part of the plan failing. Which even more rapidly led to the first part getting shot.

So, promptly at seventeen to six on Christmas Eve he was dreading several things in the car outside his daughter's house.

He made a list.

First, telling the family again no, then yes. Second, Sharon getting even more melancholy. Third, him saying something very stupid about or to Sharon. Fourth, the presents he had bought being shit. Fifth, the stress of making everyone think what they were supposed — or was it not supposed? — to think and not to think anything they weren't supposed to be thinking at least today. Or not today.

Getting out, he was tempted to list the sixth: dying of a ruptured blood vessel in the middle of his daughter's living room.

Andy was so deep in thought he forgot the unnecessary chivalry he seemed to be so fond of. Sharon was slightly surprised to have to open her own door. Not that she minded, it was just strange.

Stepping out she was blasted with too warm air and muffled Christmas music coming from inside of the house. Things looked calm outside, but the warm glow coming from inside, splattered by passing shadows, told everyone bothering to look they, even early, were already late. It prickled her.

Behind the car, Andy opened the booth. He fiddled with the green paper of the big box. Sharon had mercilessly praised him over admitting his limitations by opting for an item with a package of a regular shape. He had forgotten she knew about his more than embarrassing skills at wrapping presents.

Her wrappings of course were pretty and neat. Andy had tried paying her back by making a half-hearted comment about sad rich girls wasting time standing in line at Bergdorf Goodman's wrapping service. She had raised an eyebrow and leaned in to suggest that some frugal girls just loved Christmas and happened to have the crafting abilities of a monkey.

Sharon rounded the car and came to check on him standing in front of the open booth, miles away. As he noticed her appearance, he attempted a smirk and pointed a thumb at the present.

"Hey, not too late to write your name on the card."

"I'm good. It's your present."

Sharon watched him poking at the silver bow. After all the trouble he had with buying the thing, it looked like he was having second thoughts.

She tilted her head to ask, "You're not thinking it's not good enough? They will love it."

He neither confirmed nor denied.

"Maybe I should've asked Nicole what to get them. I'm too proud," he stated with a resigned sigh.

As tempting as it was, Sharon bit off the sigh of her own.

"It's your present. You've been a boy their age, I have every confidence you have this."

"But not enough to sign your name?" he countered with a boyish smirk that forgot to be faked.

"I do, but I want your present to be yours, no credit to anyone else. And I have my own present for them," she added lifting the bag in her hand.

"You do?"

"Of course. Why, do you think I would go to a Christmas party without presents?"

"In plural?"

Sharon paused to squint at him, at his questions. He already knew she had presents. He had carried them from her condo to the car and asked about them.

"The boys, your kids," she said slowly. Consciously trying to get Andy to relax, she smiled a tiny lopsided smirk and threw in just as lopsided a shrug. "I like Christmas."

He didn't react in any way, just studied her.

Sharon glanced around, unsure of what to do or say. Andy was nervous, hesitant. There were clear signs of him wanting to back out, but that was one thing she knew she couldn't let him do. What to do instead, eluded her. She couldn't actually order him to snap out of it and go in, could she?

"I never asked you," Andy started with a slightly distant tone, "what do you want for your Christmas present?"

"You are going to buy me a Christmas present?"

He looked like he meant it. No words needed.

"Don't."

"Why not?"

"Andy, it's totally unnecessary. This evening will be more than enough."

"This is dinner, not a present. Everyone should have a present to open."

"I assume your daughter has taken care of that. No presents will be exchanged between us. Clear?"

"Sharon, I want to get you something. For later. As a thank you. For all of this."

"No."

"Sharon, I have no other way of showing you my gratitude. A Christmas present never hurt anyone."

"Maybe not, but all the thanks I need is for you to try your best. Remember, a favor?"

Her manner was light, her tone airy and it gnawed on his nerves. Infuriating, she was simply infuriating!

"What happened to the joy of giving?"

The question was not without its venom, Andy realized, but it got out before he could self-edit.

Bunching her arms, Sharon answered with an equal scowl. He prepared for a showdown.

"The joy of giving is alive and well," she answered snappily, "the joy of accepting is dead and buried. We are having a quiet Christmas, just me and Rusty. The kids promised to pay a visit after —" She couldn't finish the sentence, only diverted her gaze. "But it's not the same thing."

"It's not. All the more reason to enjoy extra presents."

Sharon shook her head. "Me and Rusty will both open one each tomorrow, that's it. Whatever else Rusty gets, he can choose to open now or when Ricky and Emily will be here. With your family, the agreement was no presents for adults," she reminded him.

"You bought my kids presents. They are adults."

"They are kids." Quelling his answer with a patronizing wave of her fingers that infuriated him even more, she tilted her chin up and let her eyes transmit the look he always equated with lion tamers. "Before you contradict me, not twenty seconds ago you personally called them kids."

Of all the pig-headed, self-righteous, infuriating...!

"Fine. If you won't take one simple present from me, I'm going overboard and buying all your kids a present each."

Petty, but damn if he was conceding.

She marked her superiority with a derisive laugh and flippant tossing of her hair.

"You do that."

If that was her attitude, he was going to do just that. See if she liked it then! Damn it.

"Your choice," he growled. "Three better than one? Sure?"

"Fine."

"Fine."

Her eyes blazed with fire and he knew the only way to get this over with was to back away. Slowly.

"Now, since the mandatory Holiday fight has been dealt with, could we, please, go inside?" he gritted through his teeth, all the while convincing himself to let her annoying, inconvenient, beautiful, stubbornness to slide. For once in his life he wasn't going to steep down to anyone's level. Call it personal growth or acting on spite, he didn't care.

"Your perception of Holiday fights is more than little lame. Clearly something my family is better practiced at than yours."

As soon as she had said it, she heard the mortifying incongruity of her statement. Hard to be practiced at something if you didn't get the chance. Rectifying that was sort of supposed to be the underlying issue here.

Feeling ashamed enough not to face him, Sharon practically mumbled, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"It's alright. I understood what you meant." Andy's comforting squeeze of her elbow did very little. "Hey, simulated relationships should have simulated fights only, right?"

He knew she snorted completely unwittingly, but that was more than enough. The laugh she let out catching his eye was very good too.

"That's better."

Andy turned to stroke the green paper with his fingers. Santa Claus was having a good sleigh ride in between out-of-scale snowflakes and prancing reindeer. His gaze fixed at the door.

Sharon noticed how his jaw muscles tensed.

Laying the bag with her presents on top of the big green box with all its cartoony motifs, she wrapped Andy into a hug.

"It's Christmas, they will love it. If not, at least you're here. And that's better than any presents."

Pulling back, she patted his arms. He stared at her.

Oops and uh-oh?

"You can do it," she tried with too much perkiness, barely omitting the 'Champ' wanting to get out.


	6. Sunday Dinner, 1 of 3

**A/N:** _Apologies to the Guest reviewer asking for the dinner. No. But I hope to make it up with coming chapters... :)_

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday Dinner, part 13**

"Hi."

Andy picked his head up at the greeting sounding like it was directed straight into his ear. The newspaper and the remains of a sandwich got instantly abandoned as he searched for the source. On reflex he looked the wrong way first, seeing nothing but a bunch of strangers going to and fro past the cafe on their shopping errands or just lounging about killing time. Craning his neck to the other direction, his eyes finally landed on Sharon standing behind his shoulder, clutching the handles of three shopping backs in both hands.

"Fancy seeing you here," he said covering the greeting, gesturing towards the seat across from him. "Where are your escorts?"

"I'm alone." She stepped over and sat down, arranging the bags and her purse beside her. "Rusty is in training. The SI professionals told the annoying mother hen to stop meddling into things she knew nothing about and go as far away as possible unless she is explicitly asked to come back."

Andy discreetly glanced at the names on the bags but came in empty except for one. Cosmetics, nothing to get excited over.

"They did not say that," he reproached her with a lopsided smirk.

"Well, they framed it as a 'suggestion' to 'take a minute for myself' and called me 'Ma'am', but I can read subtext, believe me."

Andy chortled. "Right."

Even if she squinted at him, it wasn't without amusement.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's supposed to mean that anyone dumb enough to 'suggest' this 'Ma'am' in question anything should tread very carefully come business hours."

"I am not that bad." His smile widened at her quietly disapproving pout and shake. "Besides, you forget I no longer have any power over anything."

"And that's probably why you're reasonably tolerable these days."

Her whole face set into a scowl, but the minute pursing of her lips told Andy he had grasped some idea of her sense of humor and not crossed any lines.

Losing her horrendous administrative retribution powers really had all been for the better, Andy realized suddenly as she took her wallet and went to buy something to eat. Before he never had the nerve to relax in her presence even when he had known, suspected, she was actually someone skilled in human interactions. Good for laugh, even better for a joke or two. Maybe these days he was in control of himself enough to appreciate such qualities.

Not that he appreciated... the other... qualities less, he liked to think. Maybe it was macho thinking, but he wasn't going to give up on that. And she had the other qualities too, he categorized mentally while she was getting a salad and a Perrier. Even when she hid said qualities with slacks and granny shirts, unlike she had done a week ago at that surprisingly fine Christmas party or —

She turned to throw him a quick smile from the counter and he assumed he couldn't react quickly enough to respond with anything. He was too busy listing the 'good qualities' of a friend, he noted with disdain. The girlfriend act was totally messing with his head. No other excuse for the lingering stares at her legs. Repeatedly executed.

Or maybe it was the dress she wore to the Christmas party. It was fine, a nice, classy dress. Practically non-descript. Not short, not revealing.

Not until Nicole had mentioned how long Sharon's legs looked in it. The way the length of the slit was perfect for her body. Evidently the positioning of slits on skirts was a matter of some thought.

Thought Andy was finding increasingly hard to shake off.

Or maybe it was the girlfriend act messing with his head. The supporting smiles, encouraging hums, calming touches. Sweet words delivered with earnest eyes. Yeah, that must be it. He was just a simple man, getting confused over a woman who appeared caring and understanding but who wasn't meant to be, perhaps even actually wasn't, was only natural, wasn't it? The lines were blurred and that was why his brain was mixing things, wasn't it?

Those tiny sly smiles, like the one she was sporting when she arranged her order on the table, did not help to clear any confusions either. Quite the contrary, they were bringing forth even more disturbingly confused thoughts.

Sharon speared a few pieces of salad and a slice of a cherry tomato on her fork. It reminded Andy of the bite-sized remains of a sandwich in front of him, but he did not pick it up.

"How's your girlfriend?" she asked casually as she searched for her fork's next victims.

"My... girlfriend?" He paused to think the question before her sly smile clued him in. "Oh, I guess she's fine."

"Guess? Doesn't sound like a very steady relationship if you have to guess how she is."

The impression of the dismissive tone his ex-wife used addressing Sharon was perfect. Andy wanted to laugh at Sharon's perceptive ear, but he was struck with gratefulness that overtook the urge. Sharon had heard, known, the tone and the meaning of it, but kept quiet all this time.

"Well, she's a little too reserved for me, still need time to tune in to her moods. But lucky for me she's very forgiving, very understanding."

Her brows raised, be it in wonder or surprise.

"Good save."

"Hey, not my first girlfriend."

He might have lacked the self-control not to wink at her judging by the practically shy way she covered her smile, but he didn't really care. Andy constantly found it funny how his nervousness, his tenseness, always warranted an effort from her to make him relax and when he did, she became variably uneasy. However, be it small shy smiles, awkward changings of topics or just a flicker of her gaze, he enjoyed it all.

"You need to learn how to answer those types of questions without hesitation," she said between sips of her water, "Unless you're ready to say you made this up."

"I know how to answer them. Speaking of yourself in the third person is a bit confusing, that's all."

It was his turn to take a gulp of his drink. Considering if he should bring up the conversation he had with Nicole recently, he let the conversation lag while Sharon concentrated on her salad.

Opting for her right to know, he said plainly, "And I have started walking it back. Nicole used the word and I said we were just seeing each other."

Being a little unclear on the distinction of 'just seeing each other' and whatever Andy had 'implied' they were doing, Sharon only nodded. They had to talk about that, later.

Instead for now she kept with the conversation. Andy's flat tone was enough telling.

"And let me guess, she didn't like it? Accused you of toying with me?"

"How did you know?"

With a quick quirk of a smile, she took another sip of her water and started gesticulating, "She thinks you are settling down, having a real, serious, relationship with someone. You let her meet that someone, more than once and not by accident. You let her think there's something to your relationship, let her use the word, and then, only weeks later, you're telling her you're 'just seeing' that someone."

"I still don't see it."

"Well, you're not a woman wanting exclusive relationships." The teasing glint in her eye was back. "Makes you sound like you no longer have a need to buy the cow since you already got the milk," she said flicking her fingers in a gesture to draw his eyes along her body for further explanation. "Did you explain?"

"Tried to, but she got in a huff."

"I'm not surprised."

She focused on her salad for some moments and Andy, finding simply watching her a little... creepy, finished that sad piece of sandwich lying forgotten on his plate.

"Next time you see her," Sharon finally said, "you bring up 'just seeing' me and when she shows her displeasure, you tell her I don't want more. That we agree on seeing each other, but you... You were under a misunderstanding when you implied I was your girlfriend."

The out of the blue advice took him a while to process.

He didn't believe in it fully.

"And that she'll buy?"

"Should. You have my permission to embellish that. With spinning the truth, no make-beliefs. Say I have a difficult ex, say it's my kids, my job, whatever and I'm not ready for anything more right now."

"You know that makes it sound like you are toying with me?" Andy warned.

Sharon's reaction was to practically laugh at him, topped with an almost flirty grin.

"But I am, aren't I?" Killing the grin, she added, "Makes you sound romantic, willing to wait and work for things you want."

"And they appreciate romantic, right?"

She pursed her lips and willed herself not look away under his smug smirk. Maybe she imagined the emphasis she heard on 'they'.

"Well, there's some pointers if you need them," Sharon said nonchalantly.

Both of them knew he did need the pointers, as well as that he appreciated getting them. Those things were clear, said or unsaid.

Andy's phone chirped and he quickly checked the screen. Sharon raised a brow when he rolled his eyes. The deep sigh made her fork stop.

"So, what if you meet my family before I can have that conversation?"

Ah, clearly not the conversation about the text message. Perhaps it was Provenza with something inane. Their friendship was weird. It seemed like most of their interactions revolved around annoying the other.

Never mind, back to talking about his family.

"I'll be the one to tell them that," Sharon answered easily, "But I won't. See them before."

"So are you telling me no?"

"To what?"

"Sunday's family dinner. I was told to cordially ask you if you'd be free and please state your dinner preferences. Planned to text you after the sandwich." He pointed at the empty plate, then hooked a thumb indicating the past. "That was Nicole telling me to get it sorted."

"That's you asking cordially?" Sharon asked in lieu of more thought-out answer.

Sunday dinner? Again? His daughter was clearly offering an olive branch, but somehow it made her blood hotter. Everything went too fast and continuously felt like an afterthought. Sooner or later she was going to say something, she knew it. It was not going to be pretty.

"Do you want me to come? Need. I mean need."

Andy chuffed at her endearing uncertainty. A giant tell of her, sometimes surprising, sensitivity.

"Need and want, yes. More of the latter."

"Then, of course. Dinner preferences, whatever you're having."

"I'm guessing there's roast involved for the others."

"I'll want what you want."

"Good." Sharon kept saying that when it came to food and Andy had no idea what it meant. He was firmly of the opinion she should eat whatever she wanted, that was why she was asked in the first place. However, if that was the game she wanted to play, whatever. "I'll pick you up at one."

She nodded. "And for the love of God, if you get to clear up the 'just seeing each other' comment, you tell me the embellishments right that minute. No matter where I am or what I'm doing."

"What, you afraid we won't get our stories straight?"

"I'm certain we won't. You'll blame Jack and I'll blame work and we'll be both getting it. Bad enough one of us lies, no need to make the other lie more to cover."

Pausing with her salad, she gave him a very pointed look. The pattern needed not to become any more established.

"We could always agree in advance," he suggested.

Sharon disagreed.

"Play it by ear. Maybe she brings up a reason she'd readily believe. Maybe she doesn't need one." With some cross of a hum and a sigh Andy made a mental note of wanting to hear again, she went to add, "Oh, that would be nice."


	7. Sunday Dinner, 2 of 3

**Sunday Dinner, part 2/3**

The single knock on the bathroom room gave Sharon a pause. Who couldn't wait for her to come out? It was not like Nicole's house didn't have another bathroom, if there was an emergency. Maybe it was just a mistake, someone passing in the hall accidentally hitting something against the door, no need to stop soaping her hands.

The knock came again, this time stronger, repeated twice.

"Sharon?"

She turned the tap down a fraction of an inch.

"Andy?"

"Can I come in?"

His voice sounded thin, a shade of pleading colouring the question.

Sharon looked straight at the wide mirror over the double vanity. Him? In a bathroom with her? At his daughter's house, during a Sunday dinner, while all of his family were most likely waiting for them?

"Absolutely not!"

The hesitation from his voice was all gone.

"Sharon. I'm coming in."

"You will not." Incredulity was quickly turning into annoyance when she heard him rattle the doorhandle. "It's locked."

"Well, open up. Now."

Her mouth slacked at his nerve. Who was he to give her orders!

When she didn't react as promptly as he would have liked, there was another series of urgent knocks on the door.

Riled, she practically threw the door open.

"What the hell is wrong with you! I'm in the bathroom!"

The vehemency of her answer mattered to him as much as a pebble on the beach.

"Get in."

He stepped closer, meaning to make her back up inside, but she only scowled at him, pushing a palm against his chest. Andy took another step.

"Andy!"

Her protest was too feeble: he ignored it completely, grabbed her elbows and pushed her inside before turning to lock the door.

When he turned to face her, he found Sharon retreated back to lean against the vanity, arms bunched and a familiar scowl painted on her face.

"So, what now?"

"'Just seeing you'."

Andy was struck with the realization it was probably the only phrase that could have diffused her so instantly. From scary opponent to a genuinely interested co-conspirator in under a second. Words were powerful.

"Oh. So, what did you say?"

"Told her it was a misunderstanding. The girlfriend part. That I tried, but you told me to take a hike."

Sharon stayed quiet, gently processing the implications and the ramifications. Done, she raised her gaze and hummed.

"Okay. Which is almost another lie. You never tried."

"Now, see," he explained with an all too patronizing smirk, "if you recall, I asked you if you going to the wedding with me was a date and you told me a categorial no."

"Because I am married."

"Hey, reasons don't matter." He threw his hands into an open-armed shrug. "There was a question from me and a no from you."

Loosely, yes, Sharon agreed.

"Did she ask why?"

"Yeah." He felt ashamed, even if Sharon had told it fine, to admit, "Told her you weren't ready for personal reasons."

"And that's that."

"Yeah. No details."

"Okay."

She nodded and turned to face the mirror, rummaging through a small make-up bag. Andy eased to rest against the vanity. He watched her process, it looked like she was putting different things in order before actually starting anything.

As she pushed the bag aside, she met his eyes through the mirror.

"Tell me if there are changes."

"And you tell me if there are changes," he countered easily.

She fought against the curving of her lips and gave an amused scoff. If a scoff could carry amusement.

"Like what? Like I need a man, badly?"

Andy's grin was born of her theatrical emphases.

"Yeah, like that. Would love to help you out. After all, I've already broken it to my family and best to stick with the devil you know."

"Andy, honey, you forget. I'm only your fake girlfriend." She giggled and turned to touch up her make-up. "You don't know me, so you should pick the devil you fancy."

"Yeah, well, you're not even that any more."

Her hand paused and her eyes flitted in his direction.

"Oh my God, Andy! You did it! You actually broke up with me right then." Trying to paint on a pout, she said, "I'm just your random, casual fake fling."

Andy laughed at her pout. Her expressions were great.

"You're funny."

"Yes! This situation is funny."

On that, Andy found it hard to agree. He had come far in the way of relaxing into the situation, but not that far.

"Well, don't pout, my fake casual fling. If you weren't so damn picky, I'd have kept you as my fake girlfriend."

She giggled and kept fixing her lipstick. A case for her breaking up with him could indeed be made, if you looked at things twistedly enough. And why wouldn't you?

Sharon hummed at her absurd thoughts. It wouldn't hurt if her sense of the funny could be improved.

"I think you were right," Andy said after waiting her to fix her foundation, powder, or whatever women put on their faces with a brush like that, "that sigh she gave sounded an awful lot like revering."

She hummed again, staying otherwise silent until she put the brush away.

"Was it like this?" Sharon cleared her throat and took a deep breath before sighing.

"That's it!" he exclaimed with a pointed finger. "Uncanny."

"I told you. From a boring dad to a romantic hero in less than three seconds."

"You do wonders for my reputation. Any more tips?"

"Not right now. Just relax and enjoy."

Doing as he was told, Andy leant back and spilled her make-up bag with clatter. Automatically he started picking things up but then realised what he was touching and hastily pulled his hands back. Sharon raised one eyebrow and shot him a pointed look.

"When I said that, I meant in general, not on my purse."

"Sorry."

"And you were doing so well."

She sighed throwing two lipsticks in the bag.

"Now that was not a revering sigh."

"No, it was not. You really need to start laughing about this. We are living a French farce, you can't be so... squemish. This is your own doing, after all."

"I'm failing to see the humour in having to lie to your family just to get them listen to you, or in forcing a wonderful, kind and beautiful woman everyone likes into pretend dates." Sharon rolled her eyes and shook his words off with a series of bobs. He watched her reaction and continued, "I'm so deep in all kinds of trouble that getting out will come easier if I just keep digging down. Should start learning Chinese." For all intents, she snorted. He turned to look at her fully through the mirror. "My sense of humor is evidently somewhat lacking."

It made her snort again, this time with fleetingly laying a palm on his arm.

"I really do enjoy your dry wit."

"And I'm glad you can laugh about this. Though, it's somewhat disturbing to find out how twisted your sense of humor really is."

"Hey, you've always thought I'm twisted," she remarked with a flirty grin, barely holding back another snort.

He didn't reciprocate. Instead, he ran his eyes down along her back.

"No, usually the word I'm thinking in connection with you is 'bent', not 'twisted'," he mumbled.

"What?"

Andy's eyes snapped to meet hers from the corners of her eyes.

"Nothing."

Sharon paused for some seconds before turning back to finish her touching-up.

"You have to see the funny side," she said turning to proceed with zipping up her make-up bag. "I mean, who in their right mind would think that we —" No, not 'we'. "That you and I —" Was that any better than 'we'? "That you would —" Again she was heading for the inconsiderate 'girlfriend' territory. "That there was something going on between us," she settled on after all the failed attempts.

"Yeah." Andy watched her green eyes moving as if she was reading something before they settled to meet his straight-on. "I mean, it's not like we —" The word he had in mind was a combination of 'eye' and a vulgar word he rather keep to himself, so he grasped for another term. "— have silent conversations from here to next week in the middle of normal chats or anything."

"Right! We are friends." She nodded emphatically, but kept the connection. "And I like that," she added after a pause. "Very much."


	8. Sunday Dinner, 3 of 3

**Sunday Dinner, part 3/3**

An obvious downside to retiring into a bathroom for a private discussion in the middle of a social gathering was the unavoidability of others noticing. In Sharon and Andy's case the saying 'caught red-handed' was pretty much accurate as they fell through the door into the waiting gaze of his ex-wife.

"So, finally you two emerge. There are kids roaming the house, could you save your bathroom fucks to somewhere else?"

If not for the sheer fact of barely missing bumping into her, Sharon was totally taken aback by the so-called greeting they received.

"I — We —"

"We are just friends," Andy filled in for her, laying his palm on her shoulder to steady.

"Really?" His ex-wife's brows shot through the roof. "You forget I know you like vocal women. She's clearly one."

"I — I can assure you, Mrs. —"

Sharon's eloquence still wasn't back. Luckily Andy jumped in quickly enough.

"I have no possible way of knowing that."

"'Oh my God, Andy!' 'Yes!' 'That's it!' And I don't even want to think what 'You did it!' referred to. Not to mention the giggles. You should act your age. And pay for the things you broke during your little escapade."

Maybe it was the snarky way of repeating pieces of their discussion out of context or the word 'escapade', but that got a clear reaction from Sharon. Andy first felt her muscles tense, then saw her pulling to her full height and measuredly crossing her arms. A glance to his ex-wife confirmed his suspicion: the contemptuous glint in her eyes didn't belie her schemes. He could smell the danger, feel the electric fizzing of energy in the air.

"Me and Andy, we —"

"Come on," Andy interrupted Sharon from finishing and moved to gently push the small of her back in a cue to get her physically out of the situation, "Sharon, we both know what we did behind that door. If someone is so narrow-minded that they won't believe you have a sane head on your shoulders, we can only be sorry."

Andy's efforts at calmly diffusing the situation weren't winning any awards. His ex-wife still sported an ominous smirk, looking spoiled for a fight. Sharon wasn't budging either, still intent on clearing the matter.

"Well, I —"

Andy didn't always know much, but right now he knew with divine certainty that if the two ladies (and that term he used very lightly at the moment) weren't separated swiftly, a screaming match was from the most pleasurable end of the spectrum.

"Walk on," he commanded Sharon.

When she didn't heed the order, his warm and gentle hand urging her forward turned tenser and actually pushed her out of balance.

"I think —" she let out in surprise, but took a couple steps along the hall.

Every step, every inch away from the bathroom door was a welcome one. He started to feel the relief washing over him.

The good progress, however, was stopped by the barracking snicker coming from behind Andy's back. Sharon twirled around with a murderous squint, but he stopped her with out-stretched hands, poised to fully block the corridor.

"No, you don't. Walk."

"Andy, you should let me explain!"

"It really does not matter. And it won't work." His hand slid behind her waist to gently urge her around and further along the hallway. "So suck it up and move on."

"But we were not — !"

"No, we weren't," he calmly agreed wholly impervious to the wheedling note she tried. "Walk."

She was huffing, trying to sidestep his guidance. Andy kept the contact firm, even if he was slowly starting to fear for his well-being. Where in the world did he get the nerve to step between his combative ex-wife and the fire that was Sharon when something was not to her liking!

On that thought; why in the world would anyone think that Sharon was the ticket to keep things calm and quiet between the combativeness of his ex and his own volatile nature? Volatile, combative and fiery in the same room; recipe for peace and calm.

If he wasn't still pumped up on adrenaline and fearing the fire still burning beside him, he would have laughed.

Having some sense of self-preservation, he focused on steering her outside and once over the patio's threshold, let the door click shut.

"Cool off."

Sharon did a small circle before trying to head for the door. Andy stepped to block her exit.

She sighed and gesticulated to emphasize in preparation of her next words.

"How can you be so — so — dégagé about this!"

"Dégagé?" Even blasé would have been a stretch for him to reach as a first option in an agitated state. "You read too much."

"You know what I mean!"

"Yeah."

Sharon huffed and made another round.

Andy wanted to ask why it was such a big deal. She should know what his ex thought about their relationship, this was just an extension of it as he saw things. Clearly he had missed a connection somewhere.

"It would do some good if you would follow the example," he hesitated to suggest.

"She — your ex-wife — she thinks we would go around other people's houses to — to — !"

"Yeah."

"And you let her think it!"

"Yeah."

She paused to stare at him, her hand still half-way raised in an obsolete gesture.

"Andy, I don't get you."

"Odd, seems to me you're getting me pretty well right now." The fluttering of the corners of his lips made her look even more surprised. Andy found the smirk very hard to fight, so he opened his mouth to say the obvious, "That's my usual reaction to her."

Sharon leant back and returned the all-out surprise to a more familiar look of disbelieving squint.

"Is this a male thing? Getting credit for bedding a skirt even if in misunderstanding only?"

"No. This is a rational adult thing. I know my ex is insane, you can't reason with her. No use trying, no need to get upset."

"You know I can take her, right?"

This chuckle he couldn't swallow.

"You can take anyone you want. This is simply me directing your resources for more important things. Like at work."

Some sliver of the surprise was back.

"You do that? Andy?"

"Yeah." Small things. Inconsequential things. Nothing worth mentioning. "Didn't mean to say it, though."

"I'm sure."

She turned around, walked a bit and watched the dark yard in silence.

Andy could hear her thinking; not just figuratively, but the small clearings of her throat and thin hums she used to pause the steps in her logical process. A thesis, a hum. It follows that..., a hum. If that, then..., a hum. No, a wrong conclusion, clearing of her throat. Twice? Oh, no matter, third time the charm.

What she was thinking about, would have been fun to know. He should some time give her a topic and try to follow her thinking it to a conclusion.

He chuckled at the thought and Sharon glanced back at him over her shoulder, but instantly resumed her private conversation.

At the end, Andy didn't know what to think of her final conclusion, seeing that it was punctuated with a hum that turned into a hard clearing of her throat with a bowed head. Correct, unfortunately? True, but...?

She turned around, met his eyes, smiled and dropped her gaze straight to her toes.

A moment later, she raised her gaze and approached him. Him, or the door, he amended.

Sharon's smile returned.

"So, apparently you like vocal women."

"Luckily apparently you are one."

Nodding she dissolved into laughter Andy had never heard from her.

"Things we so needed to know about each other."

He had meant it in the 'speaking your mind' way, but judging by her laughter and insinuation she had meant it the way his ex-wife meant it. Perhaps. Andy caught himself of thinking if he had ever heard a confirmation to her statement from a reliable source.

What the hell was he doing?! Sharon was right, too much information between friends. At least in their... situation. He tried not to let it show by staring out at the yard.

Getting himself, his wandering mind, under control, his eyes returned front but he made no move to step away from the door. It would have been hasty: he needed to evaluate the current temperature of things.

"Are you calm enough to be let in general population?"

"That's usually my line," she deadpanned.

"Usually. Hey, as they say, good relationships let you see the world from different perspectives, make you grow."

"Making you to grow mad is probably not part of what's intended."

He shrugged, "If it was, our relationship could be the definition of perfect."

Sharon giggled again and patted his chest trying to pass him. Andy's hand snaked behind her back to guide her through the door and back into the joys of Sunday dinners.

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><p><strong>AN:** _Thanks to Tammy333 and SheliaLuvsWTR4EVER for the great reviews, you guys made my day(s)! _  
><em>A thanks to the Guest reviewer too; without giving anything away, hope you'll like the next instalment (a two-parter). ;) <em>


	9. The Date Atmosphere, 1 of 2

**The Date Atmosphere, part 1/2**

In the six seconds from when her door started to open to the point where she stepped fully in the view Andy made an efficient catalogue to Sharon's state of mind not unlike the way he would lay down the first impressions to a suspect or a witness. The result of the assessment was 'outwardly fine, looking homely, underlying tenseness'.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself."

A lackluster greeting was everything willingly coming his way. He waited, made additions to his evaluation.

'Clothes: clean, casual. T-shirt, cardigan, jeans. No shoes. Appropriate to circumstances and conditions.'

'Eyes: dry, not red. No glasses. Nice eye shadow.'

'Voice: steady, conversation: not scintillating'.

"What are you doing here? Not that —" She tilted her head to finish her excusing. "I'm just surprised."

Sure enough, banking on her impulse to fill the silence between them — a trait he had found odd seeing that she was a trained interviewer — got him the results.

His answer remained less than enlightening. True, but not a good story.

"Dropped by to see how're you holding up."

Nodding, she stepped aside. "Come in?"

Taking the invitation, if for no other reason than keep up his running evaluation, Andy returned the nod and stepped inside.

Instantly the scene hit him. The lights were dimmed, candles threw shadows on a bunch of lilies on the dining room table, two full glasses of wine stood on the coffee table. The music was Sinatra.

To say every detail listed was unexpected, was an understatement. Well, except for maybe the flowers. When he had decided on his mission to go check on Sharon, to see if she was going to be fine alone while Rusty was staying at Provenza's — offer a shoulder to cry on if needed, the keywords in his imaginations had been 'sad' and 'alone'.

Seeing that the case was providing stronger clues for something entirely else, gave him pause.

"If you're waiting for someone I'd better go."

Sharon turned around and heard none of it.

"No, come in, if you have a moment. Coffee?"

Andy missed the question staring at her lips. Was the lipstick that red at work?

"Andy?"

"Yea?" he answered on autopilot before focusing on her eyes. "Sorry." He started to back out. "Seriously, go ahead, tell me to throw myself out if I'm throwing a stick at your plans. It's..." the flick of his wrist made the glass of his watch glint in the candle light not unlike crystal bringing forth an idea of romantic dinners and he grimaced noting the time, "already twenty to seven."

"Why would I care?" Confused, Sharon glanced around, searching for what he was staring at with wide eyes. Putting all the clues together, she bit her lip to smother her giggles, looked at her toes, then up at him from under her lashes. "This reads as a date to you."

"Yeah."

A few undisciplined notes escaped her lips.

"Sorry to disappoint, this is me trying hard not to feel isolated enough to wallow in self-pity. I'd like to think I would try harder for a date."

Andy raised a brow and took another sweep of the scene. What was left for a harder try?

"My appearance for a start," she replied making him startle to realize he had said it aloud. "I'm not in the habit of seducing dates in jeans and comfy shirts. I would at least brush my hair, put on some make-up, a little perfume, and pick out nice heels. Food would be something easy to share, I mean feed each other, and there would be sweet desserts. Proper table setting wouldn't go amiss either," Sharon added as an afterthought, since food had already come up.

"Well, from where I'm standing those sound like optional extras. Everything you really need is already here."

She bit her lip and looked down again, ran a hand through her tresses. Saying aloud the romantic fancies took her by surprise. What made her go there was a mystery.

"Sit," she invited, repeating the finger-combing, "I really should brush my hair, it's all mussed."

Andy's cheek muscles twitched as he noticed how she kept her gaze averted. Clearly his conclusions had thrown her more than him. He sat down on the couch and by lucky coincidence met her downcast eyes.

"Looks fine to me, no need to bother."

If she was prone to blush, Andy was sure him flashing that smile was the moment he would have found out without a shadow of a doubt. Perhaps it was a little unkind to make here uncomfortable, but he couldn't help himself. The phrases 'turning tables' and 'own medicine' came to mind.

"Coffee?" she asked again of his shins. "Have you eaten?"

"I have, thanks. Coffee sounds great."

Sharon nodded, once, and turned to pick up the two glasses of wine, taking them to kitchen with herself.

Listening to her banging about in the kitchen, Andy shared a small chuckle with himself. Apparently Sharon could be thrown easily and the way she reacted was best described as adorable.

While she took her time in the kitchen, he started to study his surroundings to a greater detail. Everything seemed neat, ordered just like it had been on his every visit. Rusty's things were missing from view, but somehow he expected those were hidden even when the boy would be lounging on the couch watching tv. Sharon seemed like the type to have a place for everything and everything in its place.

This notion was backed up by the books on the coffee table. He wouldn't have been surprised to learn if she used a ruler to put them back in their places when cleaning. Only one was laid haphazardly in the middle. A proper book, not a paperback. He glanced at the title. Nothing he had ever heard of. A bookmark stuck out about one quarter down from the beginning. He guessed she had been reading when he had come up.

Hearing no sounds from the kitchen, his study was interrupted by a pang of remorse. The teasing had been deliberate, but he hadn't meant to drive her away, to hide in the kitchen wallowing in embarrassment. Sighing and ready to apologize, he followed her to the kitchen carrying some regrets.

Andy came to lean on the island, watching Sharon wiping the counter on the other side of the kitchen, her back to him. She paid him no mind. Apology seemed to be like a good place to start.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. You should know there's no need to be around me."

"I'm not uncomfortable. I'm... self-conscious."

"Okay." That was not the first answer he had in mind, but he was fine with it. Laughing would have been more than little unkind. "No need for that either."

She paused the wiping, turned around, but directed her eyes at something behind his left elbow. Andy almost wanted to check what it was. Again she ran fingers through her hair.

"Good job at paying me back," she remarked and pursed her lips in clear amusement.

"Did I say that aloud too?"

She shook her head and turned back to her wiping.

The tone of her voice was playful when she stated, "So you tried to make me squirm."

"No, I was trying to make you laugh about life's absurdity," Andy answered, full well knowing it was not a question nor was there any doubt that her words had been correct.

There was no response from her, no attempt at keeping the chatting going. The quietness made him step closer. Her hands stopped mid-movement.

"You're tense."

She glanced over her shoulder. "I am." Taking a beat to stare at the overhead cabinets, she said with a flat, almost coldly emotionless voice, "Rusty's gone. I'm back to being alone."

"For a week."

Sharon scoffed at his certainty. "You know how trials run for ages."

"And you know how he is coming back the moment he's testified. So relax and enjoy a week of no-teenager zone. Go out late, drink wine, ask a man on a date."

Maybe levity was the right approach; finally she met his eyes, for the first time since realizing the conclusion he had jumped to. The pursed lips was the tell of her amusement, if you didn't bother noticing the twinkle in her eye.

"You know I can't do any of those things, except drink wine."

"Still, one ahead of me. I can only go out late and my boss would disapprove if I fell asleep on my desk."

She burst out in giggles.

"In principle, you could ask a man on a date, but I think we're both as likely not to do it. And I think your girlfriend would take issue."

"I don't have a —" His lips quirked. "Oh, she the jealous type?"

"Very."

"Well, to erase her doubts, I should do a little prevention."

Before his words had made any sort of sense to her, almost just as her face started to transmit surprise, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, directing her hand on his shoulder in one smooth gesture. Wrapping his hands around her waist, Andy left her to decide what to do with her free hand. On his first step it slid to rest somewhere between his shoulder and elbow.

Sharon's one-sided squint didn't stop her from following his lead into a slow-shuffling dance to the sentimentalist classic of past decades.

"Are we graduating from fake relationships to fake dates?"

He replied with a boyish shrug, "Hey, nothing fake in the air when you have candles and Sinatra."

Her head fell forwards in giggles (she seemed to do that a lot these days, Andy noted) and her hair brushed his cheek.

"You can't believe the goodwill telling my family about this will generate. Next step, planning a fake wedding."

Her giggles dried completely and her step faltered. "They are not expecting that."

"No, I don't think they are. I think the whole thing is more about me being able to keep a line of communication to someone open, not so much about actually building a life with that someone."

"It's not my place to say, but I think they are being unreasonable towards you. You have solid relationships, more so than all of us can hope to create, and it feels strange you have to prove that with new relationships. A relationship of a certain kind."

"That was my mistake. My temper flared and I used you, the thing, as a weapon. Of course they thought 'prove it'." He guided her into a turn and used the moment to think before continuing, "Look, I never was a model husband or a model boyfriend so you can't blame them for wanting to see for themselves. I wouldn't believe myself either."

"You've been great to me," she assured him with a pat on his chest before it was her turn to take a few steps to think. "Is there such a thing as a model partner? I'm not."

"I'm sure your failings are the normal kind."

"As opposed to what? Abnormal?"

"Normal as in being snappy, selfish and occasionally inconsiderate, solving fights with sulking, dishonesty. As opposed to being physically or mentally cruel, abandonment, uncommitted in thought and action, you know the deal."

"Sorry to say, my marriage ticks all the boxes."

"Addicts are difficult to live with," he consoled her with a few strokes of his fingers along her sides.

With a sly smirk and brushing of her right hand up to rest on his shoulder, she easily delivered, "As are controlling bitches."

"You? Never." Andy's smirk was of the playful kind and she rolled her eyes. "Like you said, what is done is done." He pulled her into a turn around the corner of the dining table and gave her the full extent of an Andy Flynn pep talk, "Keep moving forward."

She followed him and mused, "I am, aren't I?"


	10. The Date Atmosphere, 2 of 2

**A/N:** _Again, sincerest thanks for the reviews! Get yourselves a cookie each!  
><em>_SheliaLuvsWTR4EVER: Haha, re: "from head to toe". It actually made me read the chapter again and yeah, apparently I did write that. My Andy took some liberties when I wasn't looking. Pretty cute, I might have laughed. No, I mean... of course I meant to write it all along... *shifty eyes*_

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><p><strong>The Date Atmosphere, part 2 of 2<strong>

"I haven't done that in ages!" Sharon exclaimed carrying the tray of coffee paraphernalia to the den.

That little dancing stunt had paid off big time, Andy was glad to note. Surprisingly it had relaxed her and gotten her to talk without inordinate amounts of... self-consciousness. The word still sounded funny.

The same wry part of him that laughed at her semantics, went back to cataloguing her mood.

'Radiant smile, easily pleased.'

'Conversation: improving.'

And, he could throw in 'Dancing skills well above par' for good measure though how that related to her state of mind was a little unclear.

The huffed laughter stopped her mid-pour and her manner turned defensive.

"It's a bit silly to dance in your living room, isn't it?"

"It's a bit silly to fake a relationship, still we are doing that too," Andy countered accepting the offered coffee.

"Are we?" Sharon questioned setting herself down on the couch beside him. With the same fluid movement she pulled her legs to curl between their bodies and took a sip of her own steaming drink.

Andy turned a little on his seat to better hold the conversation. It didn't escape him how her other hand came to rest on one bare foot and unconsciously stated kneading small circles on the sole.

"I mean," she explicated, "this really is our relationship, isn't it? I'm not adding anything because of what your family might think."

"Yeah. I'm getting confused too. We are lying, but I'm not sure how."

"I haven't said or done anything I didn't mean. And I think, between us, neither should." He nodded, but the way she focused in the middle-distance made him wait for her final thoughts, "Still I know they are not reading the story I write."

"Power of words I guess. I promise to get this straight."

She smiled.

In silence, they drank their coffees and he pondered on how to get some sort of a resolution out of their situation. Being honest with himself, he liked the friendship, no matter how much as a forced one it might have started out. If 'getting things straight' meant losing her company such as it had been up to this point, straightness was over-rated. However, he hesitated to bring up that concern. Either she would be insulted by the implication that her friendship was connected to the girlfriend ruse and never talk to him again, or she would misunderstand and draw away thinking he was expecting — asking for — something else.

This was good. Having an ally in his plight was good. Hell, even talking about ballet was good. That, if nothing else, was a point for Sharon, against Provenza. Provenza was too rigid. He had his own ideas of friendships and things to do and damn if anyone dared to suggest something new. Whereas, Andy liked to think, suggest a thing to Sharon, she would be in. Or at least she would be in for a light-hearted sparring match over not doing it. Provenza would say 'no. I don't do —', whatever the idea was, and, 'you're an idiot'.

Comparing a friend against a friend was a little harsh. Nevertheless, the friendship he had with Sharon was different. Somehow.

And somehow Andy knew he would push that 'getting things straight' part of it all forward as much as he could.

Maybe that made him an ass, but he was, after all, an idiot. Plain and simple.

Accidentally he found himself confirming that by realizing he had been staring at the neckline of her shirt. A smarter man would have hidden it by slowly, as if still in thought, moving his eyes to the side, staring at a point on the wall and then snapping out of it. He, in the absence of such smarts, raised his eyes to meet hers staring back at him with an amused glint.

The lopsided sliver of smile she offered him informed definitely that she had known of him staring long before he did.

His gaze averted to her fingers still rubbing the balls of her feet. Instantly his eyes flitted over her to determine why. Not cold; comforting, possibly; tense, told her shoulders.

Right.

Andy shuffled in his seat, leant forward to put away his cup.

"Lie back," he told her.

Sharon tilted her head back and fixed him a wide-eyed stare after pushing her empty cup on the table.

"Don't act surprised, lie back."

For a beat, Sharon did act surprised, then, "Andy, I don't —"

"What? You can't take a simple command or you don't trust me?"

She stared at him with feigned defiance while she considered. Did she trust him? Did she trust herself? What was there for him to do to test that trust?

"Come on," he urged her impatiently, "it'll make you feel good."

"That's what all the boys say."

The comment escaped her lips before she could get around to thinking it. Instead of getting embarrassed herself, she wasn't sure, but it looked like he flushed. That gave her confidence to do as he asked. Soon as she gave in, she realized the logistical problems with her legs and hesitated. What did he expect? Andy noticed her hesitation, leant forward and picked her legs on his lap.

"You should consider sensible shoes," he said matter-of-factly as he laid his fingers around one foot.

"I have very sensible shoes, thank you. In fact, they were boots today." The -ay of 'today' raised in pitch as he practically folded her foot in half. She squinted daggers at him. "A little gentleness wouldn't be sneered at."

"I am being gentle, you're too sore and tense."

The tenseness in her body was belied by her ankles flexing her toes straight up towards the ceiling above and her hands pushing down the cushion of the couch on either side of her body. Andy shook her ankle to get it to loosen its tension. With an apologetic smile, she relented.

"Breathe," he breathed out counting on the mimicking reflexes. Her exhale was ragged, but evened out on every round. He waited, just cradling her feet.

"Should have made you drink those wines before I started," he mused and she couldn't help the titter.

Andy shot her a smile and then turned to concentrate his eyes forward. Sharon brought her hands on her stomach and started fiddling with her fingers.

This was odd.

Neither spoke, he studied the decor and she watched him manipulating her foot. His hands felt very good. The warmth alone eased the muscles, transmitted the soothing calm all over her body. Sharon had a hard time placing if this was part of the perks of being friends with Andy Flynn or if this was more of his quirky ideas about what you should do with fake girlfriends to make them not think you gay.

Truth be told, didn't really matter to her, even if it should have, since it made her feel like this.

He, on the other hand, seemed to find a hard time directing his gaze. Rarely he looked at his hands or her feet, and the room started to look pretty much gone through. To Sharon, he looked like he'd want to read something.

"I have Time."

"Good," he replied, "I've got some too."

Sharon snorted. He twisted his neck at her in question.

"I meant the magazine. You look like you'd like to read something. New Yorker too."

"I'm good."

She let him finish with the first foot and start with the second, but kept scrutinizing him.

Sharon dared to think Andy hadn't come over for a cup of coffee or a dance in her living room, and certainly not for to give her a foot rub. Though, she had offered the first one only; the two latter items were his ideas. When asked, he had explained his visit as 'checking up on her mood'. He hadn't, however, asked one single question pertaining to the matter. No 'how are you?', no 'anything I can do for you?'. Not very plausible from someone claiming a want to know about someone else's mood.

"Why are you here?"

"Told you, wanted to check on how you were."

His answer sounded honest, unrehearsed and the accompanying smile was plain friendly. Sharon nodded and started fiddling with the seam of the couch cushion. How was she? Sad, defeated, tired? Angry, disappointed, subdued?

"Provenza texted to say Rusty wasn't happy," he said, a little apologetically.

"Is he... alright?"

Andy shrugged, but she couldn't look at him.

"As good as you can expect. Rattled. Missing his home, missing his mom. Already sick and tired of the sty Provenza calls a house."

"I'm not his mother. This isn't his home."

He shook her foot to get her look up.

"Hey, in every way it matters you're wrong on both."

"In every way except legally, biologically, mentally and emotionally."

"You're selling both of you short. Even when he ran away he ran here, to you. Tell me that doesn't signify a bond of any kind."

For a lack of any acknowledgement from her, he kept rubbing her foot, debating if he should press the issue.

"He'd like to hear from you."

Sharon shook her head, making her hair even more mussed. He liked the look.

"I can't. I'll cry and that will help neither of us. I'll text him good night." A few flicks of the seam later, her voice was stronger, more accusing than it had been the whole night. Andy guessed it was her supervisory tone, when she said, "This is exactly what I didn't want and I made it happen by doing what I wanted."

He didn't have a reply, so he concentrated on her feet and getting those tiny notes of hums from her.

She was holding up in the vicinity of what he had rationally expected. Not actually crying, but not far from it.

'Expressing inordinate amount of guilt.'

All the rational arguments against feeling the guilt she had heard. From people better equipped, less compromised, to exert any authority over matters. There wasn't much he could do about that except to listen if she wanted to unload.

But she seemed like she didn't. Her fingers on the cushion's seam had stopped, her eyes had closed. She wasn't fighting his ministrations.

'Able to relax.'

When she missed three things she usually hummed over, Andy turned to smile at her.

"Are you falling asleep on me?"

Her lips melted into a wide smile, but her eyes remained closed.

"Yes. Do you mind?" Mind? No, not really. "You are very good at that."

"Good to know. My first time doing this."

Her eyelids snapped open, her clear green eyes fixed on him.

"It is? Really? How?"

"Yeah. If you don't count my mother. She had problems with her legs and I tried to help. Never found anyone since whose feet I'd like to touch."

Her scrutinizing gaze was back. It tingled his skin but he didn't explicate on the issue or the amount of joking involved.

Instead, his hands went to work on her calves. When he laced his palms around her left leg and pushed up with delicious pressure, she barely kept quiet by biting her lip. When he repeated the gesture on her right, the mew escaped with a heaving breath. Her feet jumped instantly to the floor.

"Thank you, Andy. You are very good."

"I'm not done."

He tried reaching for her legs, but she stood up hastily.

"You've done more than enough. They are like new."

She moved to gather the dishes on the tray, throwing the book on it for good measure. Her first step was to go past him, but she faltered and turned around to round the couch the other way. Walking past the dining table on her way to the kitchen, she paused to blow off the candles. After depositing the tray on the kitchen island, Andy heard her opening the fridge door, then slamming it shut and noticed how the room was brightened from the light seeping in from the kitchen.

"Can I get you anything else?" she called out.

"No, I'm fine, thanks."

Andy was dumbstruck. One minute she was practically asleep on the couch, the next minute she was... cleaning the kitchen? All because of an innocent effort to relax her.

Alright, maybe that was foolish, but honestly, it was just a massage. Fully clothed. She was tense.

Coming back into view, she smiled at him, went to reach for the stereo's remote on the table and switched it off in the middle of 'Strangers In The Night' Andy happened to be very fond of.

The small talk and thanks didn't really hide the fact that she practically pushed him out of the door.

Locking the condo, walking around to turn off the lights one by one, she downed both glasses of wine in rapid succession.


	11. Raydormas, 1 of 3

**A/N:** _Wow, guys! Thank you thank you, thank you!_  
><em>On Sharon's 180... There was a 'discussion' over it in this instalment (pt 1-2) but I deleted it. It felt superfluous, a little too 'in your face' and my OR felt it unnecessary too. (Wow, for once I got an editorial comment from her! Run! The world is coming to an end!) I tried to leave a lot of clues, a lot of options for you on the issue nevertheless. (Hints: 'never' &amp; 'since', TMI &amp; a 3-letter word re: calves, 'all the boys'...)<br>... and the Maths comment on this is still based on TCl episode "Repeat Offender" and MC ep "All in". Even if in recent light it might be incorrect. (Holding on until expressly told not to do so.)  
><em>

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><p><strong>Raydormas, part 1 of 3<strong>

Through the blinds, he watched her still walking around in her office, picking up folders, reading, arranging them into piles. It would have been more efficient to just sit down and go through them, so that she would get home this side of midnight like the others already had. She had tried that a couple of times, but somehow she always got up sooner or later.

Andy shook his head in amusement and crept closer, watched her from his place lounging against her office's doorjamb.

"You're in a better mood."

Sharon's head shot up at the unexpected interruption.

"Why not? Rusty's free, I am free, the kids are coming, it's Christmas in a week!"

Inwardly Andy laughed at the small bounce she did mid-step. That combined with the light in her eyes were potent clues to what she was actually feeling. In case it wasn't already glaringly obvious from her smile and the cadence of her words. Or the fact that she was too restless to settle down for fifteen minutes.

"Told you it was only going to be a week."

She paused with the files and looked him in the eye. There was something unpleasing in that look, but it disappeared as soon as he caught the tail of it.

"Thank you for being there to try cheering me up."

Her gaze didn't waver and the previous statement was the umpteenth repetition of the extent of her references to the... other night, as Andy had subtly dubbed it in his plans to bringing up her reaction to a simple friendly massage.

Clearly now wasn't the time to discuss it either.

Besides, everything seemed to be generally fine, so maybe there wasn't a need for a discussion. After all, in his mind it all boiled down to 'big deal, don't make it one'. Even if in hers it probably didn't.

Whatever.

Still his next question might have included an exasperated sigh.

"So when's the Raydormas exactly?"

"Why?"

"So I can get my shopping done."

Again she paused to scrutinize him. This time the unpleasing shade in her look was... cautiousness.

"You are not really going to buy them anything, are you?"

Even if her wariness made him irritated, displeased — after all, a friendship where one friend felt the need to be on her toes around the other was not much of a friendship at all — the fact that he was too stubborn to let her get her own mind, made him push instead of calming the situation.

"Still sure about not wanting a Christmas present?"

"Sure as can be. I don't need anything."

"Everything in life isn't about needing, Sharon."

"Alright, I don't want anything."

Andy scowled at her, but Sharon dismissed him completely. She went back to her reviews but he could feel the looks she gave him over the rim of her glasses. The cautious looks. Andy sighed and took in her office. No Christmas decorations anymore, as expected. Clean, sleek, stylish. The only touch of real personality was the 'Work with me people' sign screaming of her odd sense of humor.

The other personal affect he noticed was a box of Belgian truffles lying open on the front edge of her desk. The wine red and gold lid thrown aside boldly stated 'I'm damn expensive' and the red silk bow made Andy conclude the thing was a Christmas gift. From whom, he had no idea. Probably not from her family, since she didn't seem like the type to be overly addicted to sweet things and people closest to you should come up with thoughtful gifts. Besides, she had said 'open one each' and he assumed it meant Rusty's present for her.

Come to think of it, that meant the chocolates were from someone she didn't consider buying her a true Christmas present. The price tag he imagined associated with the assortment told it was from someone meaning business though: someone relying on generic gifts — business associates, people going for normal levels of sucking up — wouldn't choose large sets of big name truffles.

Could it be from Jack? The misguided present a thoughtless partner resolved to. Hide the lack of sincere thought in big bucks? If it was, clearly the ruse hadn't worked. Only one quarter gone and spending their days in her office.

"I bet if I could come up with the perfect present, you wouldn't say no."

"Big 'if'."

Alright, the comment had taken even him by surprise, but the laconic shut-down he got irked him.

"Your attitude could do with some adjustment. For that, I'm gonna buy your kids the best presents they have ever seen."

"And that will adjust my attitude how exactly?"

Again with the confrontational pose! Infuriating woman! Just accept a gift and patchy logic and be done with it!

"Teach you some humility when your kids unwrap amazing presents and you'll get none."

"My kids buy me amazing presents."

"Not the same thing, you've had thirty years to school them."

"Twenty-five, thank you."

Apparently Rusty brought down the average, Andy noted, but was too kind to say it. Kind, or too in control of his faculties.

And then he realized that yes, her Maths were better. Well, he never got the hang of rounding rules and he was into younger women, after all.

One more thing she had to be right about!

"You probably can name the things they'll get you this year," he analyzed with a contemptuous sneer while inching closer, "and you probably have been thinking what to get them since last Christmas. No matter, I will overshadow you so much you won't see a candle for a week."

"That's petty."

"Vindictive. Only way to fight your ungraciousness."

The word deflated her.

"Andy," she sighed, "you don't need to make any gestures towards me."

"I don't. But I want to."

Thinking what to say on that, she reached for sugary reenforcements. She wanted to expressly remind him that they were friends off-duty and alone. Everything, mostly, came down to favors and general friendships. Anything else, it didn't matter.

He shocked the words back into her throat by stealing the last pink truffle from under her fingertips and before she had the mind to protest, he headed out of the door with a cheeky wave.

Mid-way he twirled around and with all the clichés of Holiday cheers called out around the melting chocolate, "Hey, it's Raydormas after all!"


	12. Raydormas, 2 of 3

**A/N:** _Thanks again for the superheroes who bother with the reviews!_  
><em>murphycat, thank you! Me seeing the alert: "... nooo, the number's wrong". XD Thanks esp. for the dialogue remark: glad to know I (occasionally) hit the mark despite my bad form! There will be more of the ex, but I don't know how much... ;) And fights... Come on, I'm the writer. Of course there will be fights! <em>  
><em>SheliaLuvsWTR4EVER, hey Christmas's over and done with, it's like Jan 20th. I think it would have been sadder if she *did* have the decorations out... since I guess there are no Raydormas-specific decorations... :) But no Holiday is real without the Holiday fight! Andy's childishness and yucky mood (by proxy) explained... here and later. xD (Yeah, I'm terrible at hinting things, let's just assume there is a method for my madness and skip to the story. *sigh*)<em>

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><p><strong>Raydormas, part 2 of 3<strong>

"Why is 'Andy' buying us Christmas presents?"

Without any efforts, Emily zeroed in on the question Sharon had wondered herself. She had tried to get out of it by not telling him when they were having the 'Raydormas', but that only meant he had gone out that very moment and came back the next day carrying the presents. The only upside was that there were only three, so he planned only on overshadowing her, not overwhelming.

"Who is he?" Ricky pitched in from the den floor.

"Andy is Andy." Humming to the realization that repeating his name might not really clear anything up with her kids — it wasn't like she continuously talked about him to them — she added sheepishly, "Flynn."

"Again, why is your Lieutenant buying us presents?" Emily asked walking back to hand Ricky his.

"Because he thinks it's funny."

The kids shared a long look and without prior agreement, chorused, "Right."

It sounded a little accusatory to Sharon.

"I bought his grandkids a present. Because I did that, I thought it only fair to buy something for his daughter and her husband, after all, the dinner was at theirs. And so I had to buy something for his son too." Once she told that version of the story, the whole thing started to sound more and more strange; more made up by the word. "I like buying Christmas presents," she concluded in the hopes of closing the issue. It was the truth when all was said and done, even if there hadn't been too much Christmas spirit floating about on her trips this year.

"Mom, the real life Santa Claus," Emily laughed and threw a crumpled chocolate wrapping at her brother.

Ricky easily batted the projectile down and didn't retribute. There were more important things at play here.

"So, what's the joke here?" he directed at his mother preparing their dinners in the kitchen.

"That's between me and him. Too long a story and not that funny. Just know he bought them on a joke. You can not accept them if you like."

"No way. A Christmas present is a Christmas present. Can't be worse than a scented candle."

"It's not," Rusty said coming to lean against the wall.

Emily turned to face the boy.

"You got one too?"

"Sure. Got one last year too." He tried a feeble smirk. "This year's was way better."

Ricky whistled. "Well, the man has a great sense of humor. If this is his idea of a joke, he can laugh at me any time."

Curiosity overrode the need to be miffed that Ricky hadn't waited for them all to settle down for the proceedings. Sharon dried her hands and came to lean over the couch's backrest.

"What is it?"

He showed her the box. It looked like a watch without the numbers and a futuristic finish on the metal.

"I'm asking the same question again."

"It's a wrist watch. A very good one. Too nerdy for a mom's brains to understand, let's just say telling the time takes an equation and thrice longer than normal. And it has some good other features, like —"

"Ricky, you can't accept that." Sharon's eyes had landed on the word 'ceramic' in the features list he was talking about. This was no ordinary watch. "You are putting it back in the box and giving it to me."

She laid out her hand with a 'I mean it' look her son totally ignored. Good equalled expensive in her mind. That equalled to 'not a good joke' and grand gestures friends needed to steer clear of.

Her son didn't share that view. He batted her hand away and took the item out of its box. His mother's pointed usage of his actual given name had little effect.

"Now, now, let's not be rude," Ricky waved her off, clearly bored of the motherly interest by now. "Rusty, your phone?"

"Um, why?"

"Thank you messages. Sis, open up."

While Sharon tried to exercise a pointed scowl and threatening stretching of her son's name, her daughter was free to unwrap her present.

"Wow. He's funnier than anyone I've ever met."

Sharon only had to see the 'Swarovski' in silver letters glimmering on the box.

"Emily, that is going back."

"No way. You are not coming between a girl and her jewellery." With big eyes, she turned the open box to face her mother. "Look, it's pretty."

It was a pretty pendant. Large smoky black crystal surrounded by white smaller ones in almost flowery pattern. Pretty, but clearly too expensive.

"I am." Sharon emphasized the words with a 'gimme' gesture that was totally ineffective. "He shouldn't buy you gifts in the first place, never mind gifts like that."

"Please, Mom?" Emily whined sidestepping Sharon's efforts to close in. "He bought them, he obviously wanted us to have them."

"You'll only hurt the guy's feelings if you make us reject his gifts," Ricky pointed out. "Especially this late. Besides, Rusty gets to keep his? Not fair."

What was the boy, eleven? And his sister's doe eyes and pleadings didn't suit an independent adult. When had wheedling ever worked on their mother, Sharon wanted to — Alright, it always worked.

Trying one last time to get Emily to cave — after all, if she did, Ricky would soon fall in line — she stepped closer and was left behind with a ballet dancer's leap behind the armchair. When had reining in her kids become like herding cats?

Sighing, Sharon returned to lean on the couch's backrest. She pinched the bridge of her nose before launching on a losing try, "Rusty got a small present from the whole team. That is different, he has a relationship with them all."

Her good, calm and assertive reasoning was instantly killed by Rusty who had returned with his phone and was munching on some Christmas candies.

"Actually...," he started with a sheepish look, "Flynn kind of bought me one on his own."

"He did?"

"Yeah? The new mp3 player."

"I thought you bought it yourself with the gift card."

Rusty shook his head. "Flynn's Christmas present. I'd have needed like four of those cards to get it."

"Rusty!"

"I though it was like no big deal," he almost mumbled in the face of her disapproving look. Sharon was mildly glad it still worked on someone in the household. "Can't give it back, already used."

"See?" Ricky sounded positively gloating, "We can't make the kid look bad by returning ours while he keeps his."

"And Mom," Emily backed up her brother with a thin voice, "these are better than Dad's. Which were literally none-existent this year."

"Your father didn't even buy you Christmas presents?"

"Not yet at least. Maybe they're in the mail."

Sharon hid her face in her hands. Things were going from bad to worse, if possible.

"I don't know if I should call to yell at your father or at Andy."

Lucky for her, Ricky was prepared to share the plan he had.

"Don't call Dad. Leave him wherever he is. Don't call to yell at Andy. Call him to relay our thanks."

Good directions, but she didn't call either.

Instead, Sharon went to get her phone and texted Andy, 'Need to see you. NOW.'

She was moderately proud of her calmness. Only one word in all-capitals, no exclamation marks and only five words in total. Very courteous, very appropriate, but clearly meaning business.

His answer, however was even more perfect. Only one word total, 'Where?'

The boys scampered to Rusty's room to do God knows what. She didn't have the energy to care. Quickly tapping a name of a café on a new message and checking the timer on the oven, she made further arrangements.

"So, who is this Andy anyway?" Emily asked following her mother to the kitchen.

"You've met him."

"Of course we have. But who is he to you to buy your kids, who he doesn't even know, gifts like he does?"

"His idea of a joke, I told you."

"To what end? To get you rattled?"

"I suppose so."

"You don't know?"

Sharon laid the phone away and started to set the table for their fake Christmas dinner. All of a sudden her life had been infiltrated with several things that were fakes, mockeries and not-quite-real. It must have been a symptom of some larger issue she should solve.

"My idea of the joke was to get presents for you, any presents, to make me look sad with not having a present to open. I didn't think he'd actually put so much thought and money into them. Yes, he is not as funny as he thinks. Stupid joke, but that's beside the point."

"He has really good taste. Uncanny how he picked that exact one, it's like Swan Lake."

Involuntarily, Sharon cleared her throat. Emily's eyes pinned down on her instantly.

"I might have mentioned it was what made you want to be a professional," Sharon admitted sheepishly, not looking up from arranging biscuits on a serving plate. She didn't need to: she could imagine the reaction. "Don't raise your brows at your mother."

"I'm not! I'm raising them at this mystery man she refers to as only 'Andy'. And with that tone not to mention."

"It's my regular tone."

"More like the tone you used to soothe us back to sleep after a nightmare. 'Andy'," she said in a low and breathy voice, twisting her mother's intonations.

Sharon laughed.

"It's his name! We are friends." Her mind flashed to the things they did on that very couch behind her daughter's back. If the flash included a step (or two or many) further from her unbridled reaction to his hands on her calf, it was quickly over. "Better friends I might have imagined for us to be," she added, "but nothing more than friends." In the obvious mood to deter her daughter from going where she was clearly heading, Sharon thought to bring up a fact they both seemed to be overlooking, "And if you forget, I already have a man in my life."

"You do? Who? No, you haven't told me. I'd remember a thing like that. You've told the freakazoid and kept your good spawn in the dark! Ricky!"

"Don't scream and don't call your brother 'freakazoid'."

"I like how you didn't correct me on 'good spawn'."

"You're a pistol, honey," she said hugging her daughter's waist, "I meant your father."

"Mom! You are not, I mean — not — sleeping with him again!"

Since Emily had turned nineteen, her code — the only barely understandable excuse — for her parents getting (stupidly, it was implied and stated out plainly more than once) any degree of 'back together', even for a chat, had been 'sleeping together'. To her it was the lesser sin: a weakness she could just about justify herself to forgive her mother. Flesh wanted what the flesh wanted; everything else was a degree of insanity from her otherwise rational mother, Sharon had come to understand. Sometimes she pretended not to.

"I'm not sleeping with anyone. I am saying, I have a husband. All the men I need in my life and more."

"Yeah," Emily spat out with distaste, "We could all do with a little less of him in our lives."


	13. Raydormas, 3 of 3

**A/N:** _And here's the end of Raydormas. :) _  
><em>I thought I liked (well... relative term) this, but then I read the comment from Guest (getting crap from kids, getting distracted) and now I'm annoyed I didn't do that. :L Hope you like still! Warmest thanks again for all the reviews, they make dabbling with this worthwhile.<em>_  
><em>

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><p><strong>Raydormas, part 3 of 3<strong>

"What the hell were you thinking buying my children Christmas presents!"

Andy was taken aback by her staccato heels and fiery approach. Been a while, he thought, since he had been on the receiving end of that. These days, he was pleased to note, it neither scared him nor did it rile him. It was just Sharon being adorably assertively Sharon.

He quickly scanned the cafe to estimate how big an audience her opening had. A few, but they lost interest pretty quick seeing his scowl and hearing no continuation of a fight. Returning to watch Sharon come to stand at his table, Andy's blank face and the hesitancy of his answer might have been more due to the want to watch the fire he had seemingly managed to ignite than it was for anything else.

"Happy Holidays?" he finally tried when it looked like another fireball was launch-ready.

"Andy, how can you do a thing like that!"

"Well, it starts with me walking into a store —"

"You are not funny."

"On the contrary, I'm finding my flair for humor evolving rapidly when I'm in your company." Trying to get her to smile with him, or at least not to yell, he stood up and pulled out a chair for Sharon, "Sit down and swallow your annoy." Helping her out of her coat, the long-sleeved, tight red jersey knit dress she had underneath made him do a double-take. "On second thoughts, don't swallow. You might explode at the seams."

"Andy, I'm being serious," she continued her chastising totally oblivious to which seams he was referring, "You can't go around buying my children gifts that surely are too... expensive."

"I'm not broke," he answered easily coming to take his seat. Andy's eyes dropped to the white poinsettia brooch just under her left collar bone. So this was her answer to Buzz's Christmas jumpers and Provenza's ties. Not a bad answer. "If you're worried about that, you can always float a little overtime or outside employment my way."

The stare directed at him was positively icy. Her non-responsiveness was telling of the depth of her mood. Only one medicine he had to swallow.

"Sorry, did I overstep?"

"I can't answer that without sounding harsh." It looked like she counted to ten, but still the answer didn't morph into a pleasing one. "Yes, you did. Again." She sighed, with resignation. "It's alright, I guess."

As Andy realized it was the same sigh she used for the 'what am I going to do with you' that started this whole mess, his lips were practically unschoolable. The 'again' part he ignored, even if he felt like he knew what it was supposed to mean.

"Told you. Would have been easier if you'd accepted a Christmas present from me."

"How was I to know that if I declined a...," she searched for appropriate gifts between friends, "a box of chocolates, a scarf, gloves, I would be tricked into taking gifts worth a month's paycheck to my kids?"

"Good point, but one: I'm so much better at shopping for gifts than you imagine; two: you weren't tricked, I warned you; three: the city doesn't pay me that little."

Sharon was still not on board with his jovial manner and joking approach.

"Still. Those are expensive things. A lot more expensive than anything I got for your family."

This wasn't about settling scores on that front. No stupid ideas of reciprocity in gift-giving came into this and she shouldn't worry about that in the least.

"And I'm very grateful to you, Sharon," he said laying his hand on hers to convey his sincerity. "For Christmas, for doing this, for being good company, for liking my kids, for having a good sense of humor — well, usually — and for being a good boss. Since you don't feel comfortable with me showing my gratitude to you —," he paused to transmit her an apology for the very specific instance of 'showing his gratitude' and her 'not being comfortable' and he knew she acknowledged it by the little tilting of her head, "— I'm trying to pay it forward."

Sharon glanced at his hand atop hers, nodded, but didn't return her gaze to his. Pulling her hand away, she took a sip of the sparkling water with a lime slice he had ordered to wait for her.

"My daughter nailed the problem," she said still watching her long-stemmed glass. Her eyes flitted up to connect with his from under her lashes before she continued, "You, practically a stranger, buy them expensive, thoughtful, presents while their own father doesn't even bother sending them a card each. 'Maybe they're in the mail,' she said. It's almost twice closer to Valentine's than it is to Christmas Day and she's still hoping, giving him an excuse."

His consolation was flat.

"Maybe they are."

"And maybe they are still in the store."

Sharon took another sip of her drink and Andy let her roam in her own thoughts. He wondered if he should go get her a coffee and cake or something to give her a little privacy. Before his thoughts could translate into action, she, however, hummed, raised her eyes to meet his, and when they did, she flashed him a meek smile she killed by promptly looking away.

That seemed like a cue of everything being more or less alright to him.

"So, good enough presents to get you interested in what I would have gotten you? Not too late," Andy offered with a lopsided smirk she evidently didn't appreciate.

"No."

"Dear Diary, must try harder."

"Dear Andy's Diary, shouldn't try at all."

The pointed look seemed to transmit a long, long, list of things she had deemed questionable or unnecessary in their association. Andy only shrugged.

"Sounds like either your kids got the pick-me-up they deserved or they were painfully reminded of what was missing. From what I gather, less of the latter."

"How do you know?" Sharon asked with no little amounts of venom. Inexplicably she did not appreciate his assumptions about her kids, her marriage or her life, even if he knew Jack, about Jack; even if she herself told him things.

Andy ignored her antagonism and only fished out his phone, tapping at it a few times before handing it to her.

"The thank you message."

Sharon watched the short video.

Trying to remain riled over the man's so-called joke or at least present an impassive front, she pursed her lips at Ricky's joke. The tears at Emily's heartfelt thanks, which was repeated by the boys, were harder to bat away. Suddenly the evening of late January had a real spark of Christmas spirit. A spark she had missed the whole day despite recreating the things they usually did to the tune of forcing the kids to wear their Christmas jumpers and bringing out an old plastic tree.

Wondering if it was rude to use his phone to send it to herself, without asking, her finger hovered over the 'replay' button.

"And by the way," Andy said softly but jocosely, knowing the fine line of having emotions and being emotional and which side of that Sharon wanted to stay in public, "not only have your kids better manners, but they have better appreciation for a joke to boot. Work on that."

* * *

><p><strong>AN2:** _... and now I want a part 4 where the kids grill her over missing two valuable hours of Raydormas for 'Andy'. leSIGH. _


	14. On The Fourth Day Of Raydormas

**A/N:** _Okay, so... Thanks to two wonderful reviewers (Guest, Glistening Sun), this kind of happened... _  
><em>As usual, huge thanks for the reviewers who didn't aid and abet. And for those who did as well. ;) You can't believe the grins I sport reading the comments! <em>

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><p><strong>On The Fourth Day of Raydormas<strong>  
>(Or: When People Gang Up On You)<p>

While their mother was gone out — 'to relate thanks in person' she had coded it for their benefit — the Raydor kids had pinned Rusty down for a chat about their mother. Their mother and 'Andy', Rusty to his dismay had found out soon enough.

"What do you mean 'you want to keep out of it'?" Ricky asked when Rusty kept rebuffing their efforts.

"It means that... uh, what Sharon does should not be my business."

"'Does'?" Emily challenged, "So she 'does' something?"

"I meant like in general."

"But you've seen them together," Ricky stated.

"At work. Not like... together together."

Emily's eyes sparked with enthusiasm as she sat on the armrest of the couch. Rusty wondered if her mother knew she did that.

"What are they like?"

Rusty shrugged, still not willing to have the conversation.

"Like they work together."

He tried to get away under the cover of getting some juice and checking on the oven. The siblings were not falling for that and promptly followed him like a split shadow.

"Rusty! This is our mother," Emily reasoned, "We need to know."

"And you know him too. We are not here, you are," Ricky pled, "Help us to look after the most important person in our lives."

"Uh." That was a good argument, but oddly enough Rusty wanted to point out that they weren't here by choice. Easily solved, if there was the will. "Look, guys, I really don't want to get involved. Flynn's nice enough and Sharon should know her own mind."

"As far as we remember hearing, the guy gets on her nerves," Emily explained, "Something's obviously changed."

"If something has, I don't know. They already looked friendly enough when they went to the wedding."

Ricky caught on instantly.

"How do you know what they looked like going to 'the wedding'?"

"Um... Well, Flynn came over."

Now Emily stepped up to be the bad cop to Ricky's bad cop.

"I thought you said you've only seen them at work."

"Yeah. I mean... Like seeing him for a few minutes when he comes to pick her up isn't like... seeing him, you know."

Rusty knew that was it. He was caught. The excuse sounded feeble.

"When he comes to pick her up?" Emily challenged.

"Yeah."

"And how often does he 'pick her up'?"

"I don't know. A few times. Couple."

"What does Mom wear when —"

Emily's question was luckily cut off by the click of the front door's lock. The siblings looked as caught as Rusty had felt a moment ago. On some level, it pleased him.

"Hi, it's only me," Sharon called, "Sorry I'm —" Her words died with a scowl. As if smelling it in the air, she instantly turned into questions of her own. "What were you doing?"

Emily tried to look at the boys on either side of her for help, but then decided an attack — a charm attack — was in order. She almost ran to Sharon and hugged her.

"Mom! Where were you!"

Sharon's brows scrunched and she barely responded to the hug.

"Sorry, we lost the track of time." Emily, sensing the futility of her efforts, retreated and Sharon looked from the boys to her. "You three were up to something."

Ricky shrugged and exited the room past his mother and sister. Emily, sensing her brother's intentions, followed suit.

Rusty tried the same, but, not used to the pressure Sharon exuded on her children, blurted, "I didn't tell them anything, honestly!"

Sharon smiled thinly and patted the boy's shoulder.

"It's alright, honey, there's nothing to tell." Turning to her children trying to make as normal as they could in the den, she instantly became Captain Raydor. "Ricky! Emily! You don't quiz Rusty about me."

"But —"

"But nothing! You ask me, you don't involve him."

Shaking her head, Sharon retreated to the kitchen. When had her children become this impossible? When had they started prodding and prying and believing in all kinds of fanciful stories about her private life?

Checking the oven, she heard Emily stepping behind her.

"We are just curious," she said evenly, "You have to admit it is weird to get presents like that from someone you've hardly heard of."

"And I told you it was his idea of a joke."

"Pretty expensive joke."

"That's what I told him."

Emily folded her arms and prepared for a final try.

"Why would he want to joke with you in the first place?"

"Alright! It was a thank you for a favor I did for him. Am doing for him."

Finally! Finally her mother admitted to at least something! She knew it couldn't be all about jokes without reasons.

The revelation might have sparked a teasing note in her voice.

"So what did you give him for Christmas?"

"I didn't buy him anything."

"Now, I didn't say 'buy', I said 'give'."

"Emily, stop it."

"I'm only being precise."

"For the fifteenth time, I have a husband. Yes, I have friends. Yes, Andy is one of them. Yes, our friendship is... strange." Now, that was an understatement of the century, Sharon thought humming. "That does not give you the right to meddle. I will tell you when and if there's something you need to know. You are welcome to either keep the gifts or to return them, either way, you will not question me."

Emily, sensing her mother was pushed as far as she could be pushed without serious ramifications, she sighed out, "Fine."

And that was that about Andy and Christmas presents, Sharon was pleased to note. Clearly Emily had gotten the message, finally, and Ricky had given up hours ago, Sharon had no doubt.

The rest of the evening was good, easy family fun. Subjects involving men over thirty were steered well and truly clear. The evening was nice, but it was then and again speared by the thoughts of impending separation.

All in all, the Raydormas had been a success, Sharon thought after she and Rusty were left to their own again. It was no Christmas, but good enough substitute.

The last hours of the Sunday she sat on the couch reading a book Emily had loaned to her.

Rusty came out of his room, already dressed in pajamas, carrying the comic he had gotten from Ricky. It was probably something wholly inappropriate, but Sharon didn't care. It was Raydormas, after all!

"Sorry about, you know," the boy said coming to sit on the armchair next to her.

"It's fine, Rusty."

"I tried to not say anything. I don't think it's my business. Or even theirs."

"You are very smart." She smiled, thinking of what 'it' he thought not to be his business. "I hope they weren't too... horrible."

He shrugged and flipped to find a page in his book.

"Your kids are worse than you," he mumbled to the book.

She didn't want to bring it up, she had noticed the awkwardness between the kids. As much as she had wanted to not see it. Settling on the idea that if Rusty wanted to talk about it, he would bring it up and unless he did, she shouldn't intervene. Whether this was an allusion to something more than interrogating, she decided not to wonder.

"I know, honey, I know."

"Should've expected it."

They shared an amused look.

She went back to her reading, while Rusty finished off the last of Christmas dragees reading his comic. Sharon dared to appreciate the calm atmosphere that was broken only when Rusty rose to walk the dishes back to the kitchen.

"Good night," he said passing the den.

"Good night," she echoed all too pleased with the way she was feeling right that minute.

Except that even on her way to work the next morning, she wondered if it really had been a good night. Or a good weekend, more accurately. Occasionally she had felt very high on Christmas spirit. The kids had seemed to enjoy the weekend, despite the endless moaning and complaints they had dished out. It was a little silly to pretend Christmas in late January, but she had so wanted to see the kids, to have that easy breakfast at noon, to see them open their presents, to... To have everything she had missed.

At what point Andy had deemed it necessary to impose himself on their celebrations, she did not know. The gifts were impossibly thoughtful, but impossibly close to unnecessary flash. His excuses had centered on amount of gratitude at play.

Sharon sighed. There were certain indications that the man had trouble with the word 'no'. As well as trouble understanding people doing things out of the goodness of their hearts without expectancies for reciprocation. And he had already done plenty.

On the plus side —

Sharon stopped at the corner of her desk. In the middle of it, a blood red box under a bright red silk bow. A box she had not seen leaving her office on Friday to pick up the kids from the airport.

She circled the desk, never blinking, never removing her gaze off the offending item. The box was small, but not tiny. The perfect size to hide with relatively little effort. For some reason her mind flashed to velvet boxes of rings and earrings and other jewellery, but she was happy to note it wasn't that small. What had she been about to say? On the plus side, Andy didn't extend his gratitude to her personally, didn't overwhelm her. Yeah, called that too soon, for she had no doubt the thing was from him. Who else would bring her a Christmas present a month late? Who else would bring her a present at her office? Who else would bring her a present, period?

Sharon glanced out to the squad room. Everyone was still arriving, the suspected culprit still not present. Not a proof of anything.

Wishing the thing had disappeared while she wasn't looking, Sharon was gravely disappointed when her eyes turned back to her desk. There it stood, gloating.

Hesitantly, she dropped her purse on the chair. After gathering her courage for a few seconds more, she reached out to pick up the card under the bow.

Two deep breaths later, Sharon opened the card.

It was empty.

She turned it around, opened it again hoping for a different result.

Nothing.

It was Andy.

Andy, or Jack.

Jack or Andy, no other possibilities.

Andy. No two questions about it.

"Wow, Raydormas is spreading," Andy said waking her up from the trance. "Or is there another big day I don't know about? Rayd-ter comes early? Don't tell me you have a secret admirer who's building up to Valentine's."

Sharon knew she couldn't hide the surprise she was feeling. It was of no consequence to her. She looked from Andy to the present to Andy.

Pointing at the box like she was ordering him to clean up his mess, she stated plainly, "I know you bought that."

"Oh? How do you know? Was there a card?"

Sharon raised the card back in view and bemusedly flicked it open for him to see.

"Well, yeah. That does look like my handwriting."

"Andy, this is serious."

"I am serious."

"I told you no. No, Andy, no!"

She might have yelled a little louder than she had meant. Andy discreetly looked behind himself to see the squad looking their way.

"And I heard you," he assured. "Doesn't mean I agree with you on it. Nor is this an admission of guilt; I'm not feeling guilty."

Clearly Sharon was going to say something, however, as she opened her mouth, her eyes flicked off him and she only wetted her lips.

"Flynn," Andy heard Provenza behind him, "don't bother the Captain. Let's go."

"Yeah." He waited to hear how Provenza walked away, but paid him no mind. "Look, Sharon," he finally said when he was sure they were reasonably alone, "It's a gift. If you don't want to keep it, throw it away."

She pursed her lips and bunched her arms. There was no comeback to that and she felt the need to check her responses even if she had one ready. Andy watched her for some second, felt the tension spark. This wasn't going to be resolved now — maybe never — so he left to follow Provenza.

Sharon huffed and dropped to sit on her chair. Realizing she forgot to take off her purse, she wiggled enough to throw it on the floor. Great start for the week, that was sure.

Bunching her arms again, she stared at the box with distaste. If boxes were prone to trembling, her look would have made it shiver.

A knock on the open door made her stop the telepathic assault on poor innocent silk bows.

"Captain?" Sanchez called out hesitantly.

Sharon quickly reached for the box, slid open a drawer and threw the gift in before shaking the shock off. She'd think about it later. Oh boy, would she!

Plastering on a smile, she crossed her hands and tried for a reassuring tone.

"Yes, Detective."


	15. Two Invitations, 1 of 3

**Two Invitations, part 1 of 2**

Andy Flynn was on his way to ditch the joint. Some days he wondered what normal people did, having no black hole of time and effort like the PD to associate with. This day was different, though. They had been all sent home early since their efforts at solving the current case was all sandbagged by bureaucracy and business hours.

Thanks to red tape, he was heading out of the door three past three in the wake of his best friends who had roped him as his personal chauffeur. Why he still went to bars just to sit and stare over a soda Andy didn't dare to think. It was not like he could come up with better uses for his meagre hours of freedom. If Provenza would even visit establishments with decent snack options!

Snack. That reminded him of something he had just heard via a text message.

Glancing back across the squad room, seeing the object of his interest still hunched over more than fascinating folders, he thought little of waiting until tomorrow.

"Wait up, I'm gonna sort something out," Andy told Provenza and nodded towards their Captain's office.

Provenza, remembering the last occurrences of those two 'sorting something out', was not taken by the idea. He groaned and muttered the list of Andy Flynn's failings for the ceiling. Deciding it was better to admit defeat and retreat, Provenza shrugged on his jacket and made to leave.

"Be quick about it," he hissed, "and don't call her Sharon!"

"I didn't!"

"To her face!"

Andy rolled his eyes. What was he supposed to call her to her face? His 'something' was of personal nature and calling her 'Captain' sounded suspect. The only other choice was to call her 'Mrs. Raydor', but that sounded silly to anyone with more than three brain cells. And, he imagined with no little amounts of mirth, if he actually tried that, she might slap him. Physically or with an invitation to something horrible, like Workplace Productivity seminars. That, in the off-chance she wouldn't die from laughter or an overflow of jokes.

Andy walked to her office, knocked on the open door and as she acknowledged him with a smile and a curling of her fingers, he decided to make it quick and launch straight to the heart of the matter.

"Thursday the thirteenth, family dinner, seven."

Sharon only raised her eyebrows.

"Was that a question?"

"Was that an answer?"

"Did you want it to be one?"

"Alright," he sighed, preparing to humour her. "Sharon, would you be interested in a family dinner on next Thursday, the thirteenth of February, at seven o'clock?"

He watched the corners of lips twitch; the only outward sign of her reactions.

"Do you want me to come?"

"No, not in a million years." Neither the bunching of his arms nor the roll of his eyes could be helped. "That's why I am jumping through hoops to ask."

"Don't be sarcastic."

"Don't be difficult."

The familiar squint was directed at him once again. Briefly Andy wondered what it said about him that the look he once had disliked with passion had started to make him smile.

"I am only asking," Sharon began measuredly, "if you want me to come up with a good excuse or actually come with you. In case you are asking out of some courtesy."

Andy's expression melted into pure dumbfoundedness. With a few strides he was standing on the other side of her desk, holding out his hand. Warily she raised hers in a dainty curve for him to clasp it in a firm shake.

"Hi, Andy Flynn, Lieutenant of the law and an unrepentant asshole."

Sharon rolled her eyes and drew her hand away.

"Ha ha."

Even when she turned to her forms, Andy could see that her lips remained pursed long after realizing that he was laughing at her expense.

"So, I had fifteen seconds to ask you two minutes ago, any answers?"

"Thursday?" she confirmed and he nodded. "Of course I will come. And vegetarian, please."

That made him grin. She already could answer questions he didn't ask.

"Why do you always eat vegetarian at Nicole's?" he asked pulling out a chair.

"Why can't I?"

"You can eat small rocks if you want, I'm just curious. I've never seen you do that anywhere else."

Feigning nonchalance, she flipped open a page and signed something with flourish.

"Well then, check the next time we order pizza for the squad. You ever wonder how Veggie Special always runs out?"

"It runs out because some tight-fisted idiot never orders enough good pizzas for all."

"Thank you. This tight-fisted idiot orders at least half a pizza per person. And eats the Veggie Special with you."

He scoffed, "Budget worshippers."

"I thought you had fifteen seconds to harass me five minutes ago." Making a few marks on the page, her head shot up in sudden realization. "Come to think of it, where are you supposed to be?"

"Somewhere where people answer my questions honestly and without evasion."

"So obviously not working then."

They shared smirks. Silence returned over the room, only interrupted by the steady hums of air-con and fluorescent lights as well as the barely distinguishable scratch of her pen.

Andy set to wait. This was a social experiment: would Sharon ever answer a question if not pressed?

Just as he was getting frustrated with her ignoring him, he heard her soft voice saying, "I eat vegetarian at Nicole's so you get better food."

The non-sequitur, as expected as it was, made him lose a few beats. She ate vegetarian for him? How did that work? Safety in numbers?

Whatever, she ate vegetarian, for him!

Sharon made use of his confoundedness and changed gears just as quickly, "Did you have the collated data on Mr. Reed's business financials?"

"On my desk," he answered on reflex, his conscious mind still active with angles to her admission. "You want it now?"

"Have you read it?"

"Yeah. Nothing to pee your pants over."

"In that case, no. Thank you for the image."

Thinking that was that, Sharon went back to her work. The clock was ticking and there was only two more folders to go through. Not a minute later she heard Andy shift in the chair opposite.

The man wanted something.

The man was bad at waiting.

"Was there something else?"

Andy wanted to go back to her confession, yearning for more information, more details about her inner workings, but, not daring to come out and say it, didn't know how to approach it.

Instead, overcome with the urge to go back on personal, any level of personal, he brought up another issue he had meant to say for a while now.

"Have you noticed you have an annoying habit of answering questions with questions? My questions."

"I do?" Andy gave her a pointed look. It made Sharon drop her head and chortle. "Yes, I have noticed."

"So?"

"Let me guess, cut it out?"

"Apparently not," he answered drily and got to his feet.


	16. Two Invitations, 2 of 3

**A/N:**_As per overwhelming 'no!': I resurrected a deleted instalment, made a few surgical cuts and the box of mystery will not be a mystery forever. (And I so thought I'd get away with not plotting a story for another gift. Damn.) So, murphycat: yes, the card was empty. Box, who knows? ;)_

_Below an Overly Lengthy answer to a Guest review, skip if not interested. :)_  
><em>To the Guest re: ANs: don't worry, I took that as a good, constructive feedback! :) I guess it comes down to seeing people start reading and losing interest en masse without any feedback. My (new) writing feels strange, mainly because to me it's lacking the old flow (very happy that you feel it isn't as choppy and disjointed as I fear!) and I rarely, if ever, get technical/editorial comments - yours was the third this year and I write daily! Thus when I feel something is weak, I get apologetic: if I acknowledge the fact, maybe they will forgive... I am very confused since the things I like people don't even respond to: as an example, I liked _"Red Carnations" _and it was a total flop. And since I don't get the feedback, I don't know what to keep, what to fix = no point of reference.  
>I honestly thought I'd said ch11 was weak and ch14 was iffy, but yes, the other ANs were a little negative too. :D Otherwise, I rather fish for criticism than compliments; better for growth. ;)  
>All in all, sorry, it's a habit! Thank you for the review and I'll try to do better!<em>

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><p><strong>Two Invitations, part 2 of <strong>**_3_**

Sharon had questioned why Nicole would want a family dinner for a Thursday night. On arriving at Nicole's house, she had voiced the questioning. Andy's answer was to stare at her, impassively, entirely too long. "Valentine's Day. Romantic getaway," he had finally enlightened her. Just like on the night of the Nutcracker, Andy was treated to the embarrassed giggles and a view of her hair building a curtain between them. She had totally forgotten about that. Not that it was important, never had been.

Andy didn't comment on her lapse: stone-facedly he got out of the car to open the door for her.

"Ready to fake liking me?" he asked playfully right after locking the car.

Sharon's answer was short and sincere.

"But I do like you."

"Alright, ready to fake tolerating my ex? Don't lie."

She paused to concentrate on straightening his tie.

"I tolerate her just fine."

He smiled at her, her curt statements.

"As long as —?"

"As long as she's not horrible to you."

It was a sweet sentiment, but he needed to remind Sharon of the reality.

"Perhaps," Andy tried more levelly, "she has a reason to be horrible to me."

"I know there are things between you and they are hard to dismiss, but there's no need to constantly be on the offensive. It takes effort, but —"

"So does she?" he, again opting for mirth, finished for her.

"Yeah." Sharon had to roll her eyes as she took a step away from the car's side. "Forgive and forget, bygones be bygones."

"This from the woman who can carry a grudge like Atlas."

She turned to face him with a grin and a playful shaking of her shoulder. "Maybe I've matured."

When he didn't respond to her practically flirty efforts with more than a fugitive smirk, she paused to ponder on his mood. There was clearly something on his mind. He tried too hard to make her lighten up while his own light words were just the surface. He was trying to hide it too well by not letting her finish the serious thoughts.

She decided to reiterate her understanding, "Personal and professional are two different things. Should be. There isn't enough energy in the world to hang on to every cross word or inconsiderate deed. It won't change anything anyway."

"Sharon Raydor, preaching forgiveness!"

She squinted at his recurring efforts at humorous digs.

"I've always been on the side of second chances. Even —"

"Even for my horrible ex."

The sigh escaped her lips without restraint and her hands refused to stay out of a bunch. The act was getting tiresome.

"You are determined to get me to say bad things about her, aren't you?"

"Yeah." The word was filled with attitude, even before he shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked an innocent leaf on the driveway. "Misery loves company and you can't be that perfect."

"I am not!" she protested with dry chuckles, "You forget, of the present company, I am the person who's had a brawl with her last."

"Sorry, you are not."

His revelation stopped her thunderstruck. Ah, that was the problem. Another happy Flynn family moment for the books. She had thought the point of their little pretence was to keep him from antagonizing — from being antagonized by — his ex-wife. Well, one of the points.

"Why didn't you —"

Andy smiled indulgently and shook his head as soon as he heard the first word.

"Would you like to go family counselling with me?"

"Ah. No, you're fine."

Going to family therapy was definitely too much for fake girlfriends.

Still, watching him clearly still mulling things over wasn't good either. If there had been a way to stay out of family therapy but still help him out with... whatever mood that was, she would have done it.

Not knowing what else to do, she gently asked, "Was it bad?"

"Let's call it unresolved." He stopped further words with another shaking of his head, wanting to change gears. Conspiratorially he leant closer to say, "A man can get suspicious if his girlfriend never wants anything but dinners with him."

Alright, if he didn't want to talk about it, let him breathe. A little light banter never hurt anyone, especially if that got everyone even moderately happy through the dinner gathering.

"When her choices are family dinners and family therapy," she started with a feigned lecturing tone, "family dinners take the win. If you want something more, you need to come up with better plans for dates."

His lips curled and he performed a theatrical tipping of a hat. If she wanted to see him put more effort into planning their 'dates', sure, that could be arranged.

"I'll take that under advisement, ma'am."

"Cowboy romanticism doesn't work on me," she said with an affected raising of her nose and led to climb the steps to the porch.

"Good tip. Ma'am." He was rewarded with a swat on his chest. "Hey, totally uncalled for! That was not cowboy romanticism, that was officer and gentleman romanticism!"

It made her laugh and try his own trick.

Extending her hand, she seriously shook his.

"Hi, Sharon Raydor, a totally unimpressible bitch and the ranking officer."

"I would say 'ha ha', but that's distastefully true."

"So, maybe, you should drop the 'Ma'am' and cut the romanticism, hmm?"

The muttered 'yeah, whatever' caused a few throaty giggles and he slipped his arm around her waist.

In final encouragement, Sharon patted his back and rang the doorbell.


	17. Two Invitations, 3 of 3

**Two Invitations, part 3 of 3**

If Andy's mood had been insufferable outside, inside he was committed to the subdued side. For a few minutes he had caught Sharon glancing his way, whilst in the middle of conversations, with a concernedly studious look. He sighed. That was all he needed.

Trying to keep up his chat about... car insurance? with his son-in-law — well, mainly trying to steer clear of his ex-wife with walking around and seeming busy and talking car insurance was good as anything — he almost missed Nicole and Sharon moving past them towards the kitchen. He would have, if Nicole hadn't signalled for his hubby to go get the drinks for the dinner table.

Still, Andy startled when Sharon stopped at his side and her fingers slipped around the wrist of the hand which held the sparkling water he had idly toyed with. He looked down at her with stupefaction. She paid him no mind, keeping the conversation with Nicole as animated as it had been.

Swallowing his chuckles, Andy leaned to whisper her, "Pulse has nothing to do with blood pressure."

Exasperation was too light a description for her response: the squint was a silent order to 'humor me'. Of course he would humor her, if it took that little.

Clearly Sharon was reasonably content with the results of her medical examination. She hummed, left his hand alone and made to follow Nicole.

Before she could get too far, Andy stopped her with a palm on her arm.

"I'm fine," he told her lowly.

"You're subdued."

"I thought you wanted me subdued."

"Don't joke."

"Hard not to. I'm a funny guy."

"Tell me if something's wrong. If you want me to do anything."

Sharon wasn't into another round of banter. Yet, he tried again.

"Anything? Now there's an offer."

She left him with a murderously pointed look and he didn't see a hair of her until they were called to the table.

The gentlemanly act of pulling her chair out for her went nearly unacknowledged, the smirk and flashing of his eyebrows totally. The cold shoulder continued with feigned disregard of him trying to fill her glass. The upward turn of her hand on the table stopped him from pouring the wine he had meant to. He chuckled and grabbed the water pitcher.

"You're great when you sulk," Andy told her lowly.

"And you are infuriating when you're like this."

As amused as he was, Andy decided to let it rest. Sharon obviously wasn't appreciating his jokes or subterfuges. She cared too much.

A conclusion proved by how instinctively Sharon knew the right moments to interrupt his thoughts. Slowly he began to see he was the only one hanging on to the fight. No one else referred to it, no one else seemed to be apologetic over it. Oh no, his ex-wife was trying to pick another, completely separete fight, if anything. With a warm hand on his arm to stop him taking a bait or a disarming comment to change the subject, Sharon steered him further away from waiting for the backlash of the previous fight as well as away from any potential new ones.

Once things got going, he relaxed on the knowledge that it was not as bad as he had feared.

The boys were particularly funny this evening. The younger one was playing the joker, reciting humorous poems they had learnt at school and telling a few jokes he had heard in dance class. His brother, of course, teased him for not telling them right, but it didn't matter: everybody laughed anyway at every single one.

While everyone laughed at a skit the boys had rehearsed together, Andy leaned back resting his arm on the back of Sharon's chair.

He smiled at her long before she noticed his concentration slipping, just content to know she enjoyed their 'fake dates' on occasion. When she did notice his focus on her, she kept smiling at him.

Yeah, a good dinner.

He leant closer for a question, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Have dinner with me tomorrow?"

She smiled for an extended beat more and playfully mirrored his gestures to a T just long enough for an answer.

"Yes."

Returning to the conversation around them, he almost accidentally flicked his wrist to ghost fingers on her arm.

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><p><strong>AN:** _I know you asked, but I guess nothing really significant happened on Valentine's since we're skipping to about mid-March... Though, based on what I dabbled for it (very short vignette... -ish thingy, whatever), Andy believes in Valentine's, Sharon doesn't._


	18. Defining Friendships, 1 of 4

**A/N:** _Thanks again for all who left comments! Some asked for St. Patrick's Day, but I'm afraid that's one request I can't fill: don't know enough about it. Sorry! (Of course, one could write about Andy having to dance around with both Sharon and Provenza getting drunk on green punch and letting out some embarrassing details, but that's a bit obvious, right?)_  
><em>ProfTweety: oh yeah, the ex is always horrible, that's something I find funny. I so planned to make her just... bitter, but she said 'fuck this, I'm a bitch', so... Oops? :D I hope we'll get to learn more about her on the show!<em>

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><p><strong>Defining Friendships, part 1 of 4<strong>

A man on a mission — a man recovering from a rejection — Andy walked into Sharon's office. She was reading and, despite his not so silent stalking in, didn't look up, so he took a seat. As she started showing signs of finishing, he shifted.

"You know, you used to stop working when I came in," he said with affected hurt.

"You know, you used to knock when you came in," Sharon returned deadpan.

"Fair enough. Shows how good friends we are now."

"What, good enough friends to be inconsiderate with each other?"

"No, good enough friends to be comfortable with each other."

She glanced around.

"Are you setting up to ask for a favor?"

"No," he said automatically, knowing he had already asked for enough favors, "I'm setting up to ask you for dinner. That was just a casual observation."

She nodded with a faint smile he read even as nervous.

"Well, I have a meeting still."

"Long?"

She shrugged.

"Half an hour, hour tops?"

"Meet you at the bistro two blocks from here after?"

"Andy, you don't have to wait."

If that was meant to be a rebuff, he decided not to get it.

"No, I don't. I want food, I want company. Trying to score both."

"What about Provenza?"

"Drinks with Liz."

The fifth grader 'eww' sneer with which he said it made her giggle. He smirked at the sound.

"So, coming?" he prodded again before she could distract him. "You need to eat, you skipped lunch. Which is a very bad habit, by the way."

The giggles died.

"I did not skip lunch, thank you."

"Yeah? What was it? A whole apple?"

Sharon's eyes flitted to the side. It was indeed an apple, but she thought she ate a salad too — or was it yesterday? No, yesterday was soup, today —

Before she could get the thought finished, Andy concluded with a chuckle, "I take that as yes."

"It was a no!"

"Yeah yeah," he dismissed her protest drily. Getting up, he playfully scolded, "Eating twice a day will not make you fat."

"I eat constantly."

"One calorie at a time does not a meal make. Admit it, you starve yourself."

"Andy, I do not!"

"Quick, last time you ate a pizza? A whole pizza. Or a three-course meal?"

"It —" Suddenly — finally! — realizing that reminding him of the three course meal he bought her not a week ago would only generate more teasing until she relented and accepted the invitation, she conceded, "Okay. I'll see you there."

He left her with a smile and pushing his hands in his pockets, sauntered out.

Sharon was at a loss why he would notice whether she ate and if she ate at all. What did he care! She had done well enough taking care of herself for decades, she would manage to keep herself alive now.

Pushing that to the back of her mind, she went through the meeting rarely thinking about anything. It was a boring meeting; dulling to the senses. It escaped her why people always kept scheduling meetings for afternoons in the first place. No one liked them, no one could concentrate properly.

Thus, she was happy to be released, to go for a friendly dinner. Rusty had responded to her text asking if he'd be fine if she ate out with a 'Yeah, whatever'. That Sharon had taken as teenager for 'Sure, go ahead' or similar. Not fifteen minutes later she had gotten a text asking if he could get a burger for himself. She hadn't the heart to tell him no.

However, during the meeting from the land of boredom she had resolved to telling someone 'no' tonight. She would not, not, be accepting Andy buying her another dinner so soon. On top of that, all the family dinners were his treats, at least by extension. Their relationship should have some level of equality, of reciprocity.

So, the moment she walked in to the bistro and found him sitting at a window table, she pulled herself straight, walked up to him and caught his attention by clearing her throat.

"I'm buying," Sharon said in place of a greeting.

Her cold statement took him by surprise.

"You — No, you're not. My invitation, my money."

"Then you're eating alone. We are friends, you can't keep buying me dinners and giving me... things."

Andy was surprised by the turn of the events, but tried his best to keep up. There was little trouble in their friendship in his eyes, and he was a firm believer in 'who asks, he pays".

"I've bought you a dinner two times. Two. If by 'things' you mean the present you got a month ago, I'm still not admitting to anything.

"At least three. You forget the Nutcracker. And then there was the rose on Valentine's."

"Now that was plain recycling."

Handing someone an abandoned rose you found left on a trash can was not 'giving someone things' by any definition in his mind. And it was a joke, for God's sake!

"Still, it was from your hand to mine."

"Don't get bogged down on technicalities. It's very unattractive."

"Good thing I'm not trying to attract you." Sharon gestured at the chair opposite him. "So, am I going or staying?"

"Fine," he conceded. No point in having the extended debate, he was going to lose now or later. "Sit and gloat in your win."

"Thank you. You can pick up the tap next time," she said dangling the small consolation in front of him.

While she went to concentrate on the menu, Andy thought to get the most important thing he wanted to discuss with her out of the way. He wasn't sure if it would be the best strategy given the little stunt she just pulled with paying tonight, but hey, getting it over with while they were at it had its merits.

"Would you happen to be free for burgers on Wednesday?"

"Burgers?" She glanced up from the menu in question, as if to check if she heard correctly. "Are your restaurant standards slipping or is this a hidden craving?"

"This is a desperate granddad bribing small boys. Wednesday the boys need picking from dance class and swinging by to get something to eat is an approved activity."

"Are you sure you want me to distract that?"

"Well, no you, no spending time with the boys. So, I definitely want you to cramp my style." Her scowl made him add, "Nicole says there needs to be two chaperons, or the deal is off."

"That's... I'm not sure I get that. But you want it, so yes, I'll come," she said going back to reading the menu.

"Sure? Small kids, burgers, mess, noise, grease."

"And one silly old man?" she shot at him with one brow raised. "I have been to a fast food joint, yes. With kids."

Going through the dessert list she debated if she should have any. She didn't feel like anything warm or rich. Something light and fresh maybe.

Distracted with thoughts of Wednesday and dance classes, she had to start over.

"Can we —," Sharon let out without realizing. "No, never mind."

"Go ahead."

"I was going to ask, can we go watch the class?"

"You want to? Yeah, I can ask when I confirm with Nicole."

"Someone is dropping them off?"

"Yeah."

A waiter walked past them with a questioning look on her face. Sharon didn't notice, she was still reading the menu, but Andy shook his head at her. He didn't know what was so interesting in that menu, or when had she become such a slow reader, but made no comment.

Andy twirled his glass between his hands. He wondered how quickly Sharon had to get home. It was already getting late and if judged from the amount of time she used on the menu, this dinner was going to be a slow affair. Not that he minded, but... Maybe someone else did.

She never said anything about it, but Nicole had asked a question the last time they had talked and since then he had felt a little guilty about eating up so much of Sharon's time. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea, maybe he should have extended the invitation from the get go...

Seeing her push away the menu, Andy thought to... hint about it.

"Look, I would offer to take Rusty too," he said apologetically, "but —"

"But the boys might say something. I understand. And I don't think he'd be interested. He's a teenager and I'm starting to get boring," she added with a smirk. "It does some good for him not to eat a burger a day."

"Like you would let him."

"I'm ashamed to admit, but I do. He is eighteen, if he wants to eat burgers, he eats burgers."

"I'm sure that's not the tone you use with him when it comes to burgers."

"No, it is not," she admitted with a few chuckles. "Don't think less of me."

"Always knew kids could melt that diamond hard icy exterior of yours."

"Ah, not only am I diamond hard, I can also be bought with them," she offered with a suggestive smile.

Andy threw his hands up in mock desperation.

"And now you tell me!"

"So sorry I didn't think to drop you a Tiffany's catalogue years ago."

"More of a Cartier guy myself."

"Any will do. And you're a sensible man. Like you said, I am easy: I can just as easily be bought with kids and a burger."

He smirked. As evidenced by the difficulties of getting her to accept anything from him or of getting a straight answer out of her, there was only one conclusion: one could only hope.


	19. Defining Friendships, 2 of 4

**A/N:** _Yay for all the reviewers (ProfTweety, Guests, Jenn!) it's always wonderful to hear your takes on things! Thank you!_  
><em>And re: ProfTweety: I don't know what it says about me but here's another one who refused to be just mildly annoying and went for bitch instead... XD No, I can't control my characters *at all*... <em>

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><p><strong>Defining Friendships, part 2 of 4<strong>

Wednesday after work, both Andy and Sharon had rushed home in order to get the boys in dance class on time. Andy had told Nicole it was stupid to get someone else (ie. herself) to drive through the town to drop them off only to have him drive after to watch the class (Nicole had had no problems with Sharon's request, she had only smiled wide and told him a yes straightaway). She had agreed, surprisingly easily, so it had been decided that this Wednesday's dance class was all grandpa time.

So, on Wednesday, when, not an hour later, he had arrived to pick up Sharon for their outing, she was already waiting outside, clearly excited. In teasing he had asked whose dance class this was anyway, hers or the boys, to warrant such excitement. She had coldly replied that she had thought he had always appreciated the time she had spent in dance classes. He had, very much, but never had he thought to say it aloud.

But she was excited enough for all of them. Andy had thought it was going to be two hours of getting bored out of his mind, then a little fun time with the boys. The boys were less than enthusiastic when Nicole had opened the door, even going as far as asking 'do we have to go?'. None of that matter, for after the next twenty minutes of Sharon's chattering and smiling every one of them wanted that class to start.

Sharon made it up to the parents' gallery first, leaving Andy to get the boys ready. He had frantically whispered her he didn't know what to do, but she had only rolled her eyes and told him to ask the boys. Not happy about the amount of direction he got from her, Andy had grumbled something unkind to which Sharon had responded with another roll of her eyes and less than caring 'yeah yeah'.

Getting seated and still laughing about the adorable helplessness the man exhibited, she didn't notice the woman coming up the stairs almost right behind her.

"Sharon!"

She searched the surroundings and her eyes came to land on a blonde her age.

"Uh, Carolyn. Hello."

"Fancy seeing you here. What is it, twenty years, and still the same places. We don't graduate much, do we?"

"No, it would seem not."

"So," the woman said, sitting down on Sharon's left side, "how's Emily, still going to classes?"

"Yes, you could say that. Professional dancer. Tina never went back?"

"No, God no. I'm here with Julie's kids. Mommy's too busy dancing to take the kids dancing."

Joyous over another girl making it, Sharon smiled.

"Really?"

"Well, not this kind of dancing, between you and me. But I don't complain." The tight voice told Sharon that 'not this kind of dancing' was definitely the point to complain about. Why, she didn't dare to hazard a guess. Carolyn dropped her purse on the floor and turned around with a cat's smile. "A professional, fancy that. She was always good. Hard-working."

Those Sharon immediately took as hard criticisms. Why 'hard-working' was a negative in this woman's world she would only —

"You!" Sharon's head snapped around to see Andy comically carrying as much stuff as you would on a camping trip. He was not amused. "You knew they wouldn't need me there at all! They only used me as a glorified clothes rack."

She couldn't fight the smirk.

"Well, finally someone found you a job to match your skills."

"Not your usual opinion," he said with an affect huff, "And I have it in writing."

Sharon tittered and refused to look at him. Well, he did have that in writing, as unfortunate as it was for everyone. She missed Andy juggling with the too many loose things, one of them being his jacket and tie (he clearly hadn't taken the time to change between work and leaving to pick her up).

He thrust his jacket at her and only when it was already almost in her lap, she took it. She heard him fumble with something, but being too busy to think if it would seem rude to change seats, didn't look up to see what.

"Here, Sharon," Andy finally said with a slightly annoyed tone at her denseness, "could you hold on to these?"

She raised her eyes to see what 'these' were and on the palm of his outstretched hand saw him holding his cufflinks. At that moment she had only four questions in mind; one: why did the man wear cufflinks to work on a regular day, two: why didn't he at least change his shirt, three: why should she take care of them, four: what did this look like.

She asked none of those, instead reached out to take them.

"Uh, sure."

Slipping the things in her purse, she noticed the scrutinizing gaze directed at them.

No, this was not going to just go away.

She sighed and made the introductions.

"Andy, Carolyn Reeves. Carolyn, Andy Flynn."

Andy nodded at the woman, still fiddling with the boys' backpacks and things (why he didn't leave them in the locker room, Sharon didn't dare to ask).

"Carolyn's daughters danced with Emily for... For more years than you need to know," Sharon added as a way of explaining everything.

Carolyn only stared at Andy, almost with glazed eyes.

"How's Jack?" she asked after a moment of waiting for her context clue that didn't seem forthcoming.

Sharon cleared her throat and looked at her hands mostly obscured by Andy's jacket. At that sound Andy glanced at her.

"Jack's —" she started, but immediately paused to look for a good description.

"Last I heard of him," Andy said matter-of-factly, "same as always. Good for a laugh." Seeing Sharon looking up at him with a vacant expression, he offered a little misdirection, "Hey, did you have the car keys?"

She squinted at him.

"Of course I have the keys. Since when I don't?"

"Yeah, forgot the lady's always in charge," he joked, but she didn't laugh. Directing his next words over her to the woman he had been introduced to, he tried a boyish smirk. "Sorry, not a dance parent."

The woman still looked at him in a measuring silence.

"That's alright."

Right then, the boys emerged and waved at the gallery. Sharon responded with a wrist-sized half-circle of a wave.

The gesture didn't slip past Carolyn.

"Cute boys."

"Very;" Sharon said with a small smile.

"Not Ricky's kids surely?"

"No, no. They are..."

She looked at Andy to fill the sentence with what he thought best.

"My grandkids," he offered immediately, "My daughter's boys."

"I see," Carolyn tried to place the piece of information, "Your daughter's... Nicole?"

"Yes," Andy replied taking his seat next to Sharon. "Step-kids, but that distinction —"

"Of course." She returned to staring at Sharon, who exhibited all the signs of not noticing that someone was staring at her. "I'm sorry, I'm just... surprised. Curious." Sharon offered her a thin smile, which encouraged her to continue, "Is Jack totally out of the picture?"

"Not totally, no. We get together now and again. The 'you don't ask about me and I don't ask about you' policy has been working mostly well."

"I see." Carolyn looked between Sharon and Andy. "So you two...? Are you...?"

Are we what? Sharon wanted to ask. Are we sleeping together? Dating? Friends? Faking a relationship? Are we... what exactly?

"We —" she started, but was cut off by Andy.

"We are friends."

She smiled at the response.

"Yes, we are friends. I'm here just as an extra pair of hands and to see the new generation of dancers. Addiction is hard to fight."

Realizing what she had said, she reached to squeeze Andy's hand. He didn't let her go so easily, rather flipped his hand around under hers and squeezed back.

Their moment was interrupted by the now-familiar voice.

"I think one of the boys needs some help."

"Yeah," Andy sighed, seeing the trembling lip the younger one was sporting, "I'll go."

However, Sharon shot up to her feet quicker.

"I'll go."

"Sh—" Andy started, planning to thank her for her concern but anticipating a difficult, maybe tear-including conversation with an upset boy, thought it a little too much ask from her. Taking care of the boys was his responsibility first. His protest died at the nervously pleading look in her eyes. "Okay," he told her softly and backed it up with an encouraging smile and a nod.

A sigh from her wouldn't have been surprising to hear.

Andy watched her trotting down the stairs. Odd, very odd. He hadn't seen her get so nervous around him, ever. Trying to run through everything that happened in case he had done something weird or inappropriate, Andy barely registered other people coming up those very same stairs or Sharon appearing in the room with the boys.

"She still does demi-pointe," the woman Sharon had talked to earlier said with amusement.

Still trying to think through their interaction (with no results, however), the words snapped Andy's focus to the scene below.

"Demi—?"

Andy thought he knew what the pointe part meant, on toes. Sharon often mentioned it, the first few times she helped him to understand with a visual, the latter times he admitted to playing dumb just to see her enthuse over explaining.

"That heels-off thing," Carolyn cleared pointing to Sharon talking with the boys, holding the younger's hands, and intermittently pushing herself on her toes. "En pointe, fully on toes. Demi-pointe, on the balls of your feet."

Ah, so she did demi-pointe, a different animal.

"Hey, do you know does she do the full pointe?"

"Sharon? No, she's not a dancer. She always did the demi, probably to encourage Em. Or just to horse around like she does."

Andy had to agree, "She does have a strange sense of humor."

"With her life, no surprise." Before he could think of a way to get this — Andy forgot the name, was it Carolyn? — to explain the remark without prying, she laughed and exclaimed, "Look, now she's trying to do the Spanish fourth with the boys!"

He watched Sharon stand tall, the feet a step apart behind each other, one set of toes pointing left, the other right. It looked uncomfortable even before he studied her raised hands in a position like he had seen in a flamenco. Sharon glanced at the boys tapping her chin up. The boys mimicked her, down to the patting of chin. When she proceeded to move, Carolyn laughed.

"I don't know why she's doing that, more importantly like that, and I hope none of the kids pick that up."

"Is that wrong?" Andy asked, since to him it looked fine enough. Even graceful.

"It doesn't make much sense."

They boys held their stomachs and giggled as Sharon dissolved into laughter. She pulled the younger brother in a sideways hug and leaned down to say something to him. The reply she got was a nod which she returned before letting go of him.

There was a tap on her shoulder and she turned around.

"That's the teacher," Carolyn told Andy.

The man said something to Sharon, to which she replied with a smile and shaking of her head. The teacher said something else, shortly which made Sharon still, look around and purse her lips before raising her hands like they were in what Carolyn had named 'Spanish fourth'. The teacher rounded her, said a word, two and she corrected her position. After one command, she glanced at the teacher and raised her heels off. A couple of steps and movements later the teacher nodded, addressed the kids, and Sharon relaxed and received applause. She smiled and made a theatrical stage bow before leaving.

"She got made an example of," Andy let out in a mixture of disbelieving amusement. If only he had a camera... And too late he realized that cellphones came with one. Damn.

"Good work, though," Carolyn appraised.

Not many seconds later, Sharon came through the door and received another applause. She smiled bashfully and nodded.

Andy's grin was wide.

"Nice work, Ms. Raydor."

"Andy, don't," Sharon admonished, clearly flailing between amused and mortified.

"What, honest compliment. You have hidden talents, ma'am."

Walking around his legs to her seat, she swatted his chest. Andy's grin only got wider.

As she had settled down, he leaned closer, lowering his voice.

"Was there a problem?"

"No, not really. He was a little worried that we were watching."

"Why, we've seen him dance before?"

"But that's a different thing. This is practice and he was worried he would mess up or bore us."

"So you showed him...?"

"I showed him if I dared to do that without warming up, without knowing what I was doing, with all the strangers looking, he should be proud of anything he did. And since I don't know how to do that correctly I needed to watch him closely."

At that moment he realized there was a great divide between her skills and his. If he had gone down, he had said 'why' and 'that's silly' and those probably wouldn't have helped anyone. Maybe no tears, but no grins and waves while the teacher wasn't looking.

"You are great with the boys," Andy said, stroking her back. "Thank you."

Sharon flashed him a relaxed smile and squeezed his hand.

"No need to thank me. My pleasure."


	20. Defining Friendships, 3 of 4

**A/N:** _Wow again, those comments... you rock! _  
><em>Dietlinde: Grazie! Spero che siano presentati abbastanza bene nei prossimi capitoli... Ma forse lei non lo fa (ancora) a causa di Jack? Vediamo come vanno! ;) <em>  
><em>Sally, wow! I'm humbled! Thanks! Halloween, no. Too far off, we are on the homestretch. :) But there will be some extra goodies coming your way soonish... ;) I hope I can live up to your expectations! x)<em>

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><p><strong>Defining Friendships, part 3 of 4<strong>

"You don't particularly like that Carolyn woman," Andy mused out loud on that Wednesday evening after all the hustle and bustle of the day had gone by.

It was the first moment for him to truly consider everything that had happened during his 'day with the grandkids'. 'His day with the grandkids and Sharon,' he quickly amended. For it truly was an incomplete day without one or the other.

Andy had not made much of the encounter with Carolyn at the time, only that it had made Sharon nervous. She had clutched his jacket like a child would hold his comforting blanky. Even after she had returned from downstairs, which he hadn't noted until the class ended.

But now, walking her up to her door, he knew there was something else. Sharon's reaction to his question right now had confirmed it, at the latest. The steps she took after hearing it, were as frozen as a person actually walking could exhibit.

"No, not particularly," she finally admitted, reluctantly. "Is it that obvious?"

Andy shrugged. It was hard to estimate whether someone else would think something obvious when to him it indeed was.

"To me maybe."

In silence they crossed the hall all the way to her door.

"What did she do?" he couldn't help asking, "Told everyone you can't dance? Disrespected Princess Raydor? Sided with Jack?"

Her answer was mumbled into her purse, but still he heard.

"Try 'slept with Jack'." With horror she met his eyes and waved the words off. "No, shouldn't have said that. Sorry. Old tensions. Just warn your daughter against telling her sensitive things."

That sounded a bit harsh and when she had the keys in hand, she turned her back on the door and amended, "She is not a bad person or anything, just... The memory of an elephant and the spite of a viper."

Andy responded to her forced chuckles, thinking that he apparently had crossed a wall the size of the Niagara Falls without knowing it. On the other side of it was 'disdain from Sharon Raydor', on the other 'affections of Sharon Raydor'. He finally knew the grave differences of the sides.

"So not unlike me," he tried on a quip to make her laugh over that same realization.

The residues of her painted-on smile faded and her eyes relaxed into honest warmth during the several beats she let go without an answer.

"Very much unlike you."

He was taken with the naked honesty and marveled at the way she nailed the flip side of the same wall — namely the ladder he had used to climb over it.

"Look, Sharon," Andy softly said turning serious, "I want to take you out properly."

He wasn't sure if he had ever before seen a surprised scowl, but if not, this was a first.

Soon her eyes started to transmit her next words: 'we can't', 'Andy, don't joke', 'you don't mean that', 'no'.

Before she could arrange those in any order to say them, he jumped in to clear the issue.

"I mean proper food, clean tables and," he flicked the lapel of her sweater which, despite all her efforts, carried evidence of their night, "no french fry fights."

Sharon smiled, bunching her arms.

"I'm good," she said airily, "I won that fight if you recall."

Still not letting his fingers part with the collar, he sighed. Not everything had to be a joke between them.

"Yeah, you did. Let's call it a reward then, though I'm not sure I approve you beating my precious grandkids."

"I only play to win."

"And I never play if I want to win," he told her honestly, smoothing the ketchup stain on the neckline of her red cotton shirt.

Even after seeing his fingers on the collar of his sweater, he had had no idea why he went and did that. Realizing he still had no idea of what he was doing, and, even while having his eyes trained on his own fingers, knowing Sharon was a second from shying away from him, Andy stepped back and changed gears to his usual almost sarcastic approach.

"Besides, Nicole told me to get you something as a thank you since you're so great with the boys and give so much of your time for all of this... drama. And I know how much enthusiasm you have for accepting things from me." He looked at her pointedly, but she didn't waver. His stance went for assertive. "Tomorrow's dinner on me or a little bag with Cartier printed on it, your choice."

A narrow squint told him his transgressions not minute ago were at least put on the backburner, if not forgotten.

"You wouldn't."

"Could be Tiffany's too. In fact, I saw this really great necklace that would bring out your eyes very nicely..."

"Like you would read jewellery ads."

"Oh, but I do. Wanna risk it?"

Their deadlock went for the non-verbal kind. Andy was becoming disturbingly fond of staring contests with her.

"You do realize this is blackmail?" she said lowly.

Aha! He was so going to win.

"No, this is a thank you and you have choices. Stop being nice if you can't handle gratitude."

"Alright, but I can't do tomorrow."

"Day after?"

"No, that's not good either."

The easy way she turned him down made him more than a little suspicious.

"And if I ask for Saturday or Sunday, it's not good either?"

Sharon's tiny shrug — which she most likely meant as dismissive — was a confirmation of the highest order to him. He had her. If she was actually telling the truth about being that busy, she would have said the words.

"I'm getting the sense you're fobbing me off."

"No," she tried firmly, but failed with a quaver, "I'm just busy."

Too late.

"I'm not giving up."

What was the saying? 'Never fight with an idiot: he might be doing the same'? From the deep inhale Andy could see Sharon was definitely familiar with that one.

"Alright, tomorrow."

They agreed, exchanged frosty goodnights and only after Sharon locked her door from the inside, she realized how in a matter of seconds the dinner had gone from 'a thank you from Nicole' to 'dinner on him'.


	21. Defining Friendships, 4 of 4

**A/N:** _Thanks again Guests & Sally & Dietlinde & ProfTweety! Both Guests asked for the dinner... I'm starting to feel there might be a 'look here! haha! nope!' pattern in my writing. XD This time though, don't worry, here it is! And what an epic it turned out to be._  
><em>And as a side note for the following ch: I do like Jack. Really. Honestly. The writer in me just really honestly doesn't. I feel bad for the guy. :( <em>  
><em>Sally, good, surprised myself too. :D (What if not, hint hint?)<em>  
><em>Dietlinde, no, no, va bene! :) Forse lentemente posso realizzare la richiesta. (O se ricevo, più di uno.) Ma, devo dire che questa storia si concentra più su di lui: non oso fare promesse. ;)<em>  
><em>ProfTweety, told ya! :D Glad you liked those little details. :) I'm finding I'm really undecided on the boys' ages. On one hand I seem to write them young: like Nutcracker mice young. Then on some comments I've made they seem more pre-teens: like Nutcracker ballet school range. I'm hoping it's not too inconsistent! But no boy is ever above a french fry fight, IMO.<em>

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><p><strong>Defining Friendships, part 4 of 4<strong>

True to her word, she met him for dinner the next day. It being less down to 'meeting' as it was to 'Andy picking her up'. Another thing she needed to talk to him about, Sharon mentally jotted down.

The ride over had been much quieter than it usually was. She was working on an angle to bring up the real force behind the dinner invitation. Nicole or her husband it was not. Thinking the discussion would need an environment safer than LA traffic, Sharon bit her lip all the way down to the restaurant of his choosing.

Which was too damn fancy, if anyone bothered to ask her.

They didn't, so as she was sat down to a small table at the back corner by the window, she remarked — with no small amounts of distaste — how she had been set up. Having accepted the offered menu from an exuberant blonde girl, she scrapped any beginnings of a plan in favor of good old-fashioned passive-aggressiveness.

"So, what can I eat?" Sharon asked casually.

Just as casually, he answered, "Whatever you want."

"If I take numbers six, twelve and fifteen?"

Andy didn't like her tone. It was cold and challenging and supercilious and he didn't know why it needed to be any of those.

"Then you take numbers... six, twelve and fifteen."

"And a bottle of 98 Krug?"

"Fine."

At his flat tone Sharon glanced over the top of her menu.

"Nicole thinks I was 400 dollars worth of nice?"

"More." Finally he read the menu items she had listed. Top dollar, each and every one of them. So she clearly had caught on to his ruse. "Fine," he conceded — cornered, "that was a hoax. I'm paying. And you knew it."

In the most fugitive glee, Sharon flipped the menu on the table. It was obvious to Andy that she had planned this, played to get his admission, but now that she had it, she looked like she hadn't wanted it.

Andy put away his own menu and brushed his glass to the side, and seeing the vase still obscuring his view, picked it up and removed it to stand perilously on the edge of the white linen.

After studying him for some moments, Sharon sighed deeply.

"Andy, what is this about?"

Her opening for the serious conversation he wanted, left something to be desired for.

"What do you want this to be about?" Andy asked levelly, letting her to take the discussion as in-depthly as she felt comfortable with.

She returned to studying him and, with another sigh, shook her head and leant closer. Seeing Sharon searching for any words to say, and fearing they would be of the harsh 'back off and let's not see each other for a while' variety, Andy thought to formulate his aboveboard intentions into words.

"For me, this was about having a nice, quiet, adult dinner with you without thinking every damn gesture and touch like I have to everywhere else."

'Damn' was the wrong word to use. He saw her stance and expression close instantly. From the corner of his eye he saw the waiter approaching, but without turning his focus, signaled her to take few minutes more.

"You forget, that is what you wanted," Sharon told him coldly.

"I didn't want it, Sharon!" he snapped and only from her calming palm realized how much he had raised his voice. "You know I didn't want that. I had absolutely no idea what I wanted."

"'You know'. I don't. I have no way of knowing what you think."

"Don't! Don't do that."

"Tell you the honest truth? Because that's what it is. Sometimes I can infer what you are thinking, but I cannot know."

Andy scoffed. So much for honest discussions and good intentions and whatever. The woman was a walking red light.

"Don't you think we should reschedule?" Sharon continued. "You are in no mood to do this and you're rapidly getting me right there with you."

"It's not me who's being impossible."

"Really? As I recall, I was being nice, having a good time and being fed dinner yesterday, then suddenly I got man-handled into a fancy dinner I did not want — which I gracefully declined by the way — under false pretences. Once there, I'm being yelled at and I am the impossible one."

Andy saw the poor waiter making another approach and yelled at the girl, "Not yet!"

Sharon shot her an apologetic look and folded her arms even tighter. Giving him a 'happy now?' raising of her chin, she waited for further explosions.

"You're right," Andy supplied right on cue, "I apologize. Of course you're free to go if you like. I just thought it would be nice to do something together without the constant pressure of faking things."

"That pressure can be eliminated."

"I know, Sharon, I know." It took all his effort not to snap at her again. Relaxing into a slightly playful approach, he accused, "You are determined to make me short."

"Andy, I am not." She chuckled and leant back in her chair. "I guess this is why we have absolutely no chemistry. When I am short and to the point, that's a good thing. When you are short and to the point it's a bad thing. I like short, you like courteous."

'Absolutely no chemistry'? Seriously?

Or was this another of her subtle ways to tell him to back off?

Never mind, he wanted to correct her, "You don't like short, you like honest and outright."

"True."

"And to be that: we do have chemistry. The good kind."

"Do we." It was not a question, it was not a statement. "But do we have enough?"

"Depends on what you need it for. For us to have silly fights and enjoy a wonderful dinner together still remaining good friends — yes, absolutely."

That was his offer, now it was up to her to accept or leave.

She pondered over the issue.

"One condition?"

"Only if you'll let me set one too."

"Whatever it is bugging you, we either discuss it honestly right now or you get over it and don't even exhibit the symptoms of it today."

"Alright."

They both waited.

He considered all her reactions. Everything was screaming 'back off' to him and he didn't want another possibly loud tête-à-tête tonight. If they had that, he knew the issue would be closed with a firm 'no'. If he saved the discussion for another day, it might not change the result, but perhaps they could revisit it. Or maybe leave it open.

No, he wasn't going to discuss it right now.

So, he told her, "Yours: no unattractive statings of truths unless explicitly asked for."

It took her by surprise.

"That... You want me to lie?"

"No, I want you to be courteous." Smirking, pleased to note she was accepting the condition in principle, he leaned back and grabbed his glass. "Your own word. Don't quote me and my bad deeds," he expanded.

She wasn't aware she had been doing that.

"I assume you will correct me when needed."

"Yeah, you betcha." Smiling at her, he reached for his menu and flipped it open in content merriment. "So, six, twelve and fifteen?"

The merriment wasn't spreading; she didn't move an inch.

"No, two, nine and fifteen, please."

"You know you can have six and twelve if you want?" Making a last-ditch effort to get her to have the conversation he wanted on her own accord, he met her eyes over the menu. "Or anything you want. Anything."

"I know." She didn't take the pitch, but nevertheless smiled thinly. "Thank you."

Nodding, Andy decided on his dinner, and when the slightly nervous waiter dared to return, he placed the order for their entrées and mains after an apology. He had to flash a little of the famous Andy Flynn charm (at which he noticed Sharon trying very hard not to crack a smile) to get the girl to relax. Apparently Sharon was not the only one taking an offence at being yelled at.

The two courses went well enough without much incidents. Andy had to correct Sharon twice on being courteous and they both only laughed about it. She, however didn't mention his mood even if he knew that in the natural lapses of their conversation he couldn't push the idea completely out of his mind. He knew it was a bad, bad, idea, but he wanted to talk about it being such a bad idea.

She, obviously, didn't.

So, when she retired to the powder room after the main, he let himself consider the issue freely and with a mental devil's advocate. The guy had very little to do. It was a stupid idea and he wasn't even sure. But he thought it could go somewhere. At least saying things would help, either way. But of course, it could just be the lure of exploration. Which would screw everything up. And this wasn't too bad.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe she was full of crap.

Sharon came back with a smile. Even before she got to take her seat, he totally disregarded her condition and tried again.

"Do you think women can be friends with men?"

"Aren't we friends?" She had thought this issue was over and done with. Certainly not needing any words. "Of course, most of my friends are men," she added taking her seat.

"You don't see a conflict?"

"Never." Thinking their friendship was just fine, she chuckled and joked, "What's brought this on? Do I smell a spontaneous admission of feelings one shouldn't have coming?"

Probably, yeah, she did. But he was experienced enough to know the difference between feelings and attraction.

"That waiter," he said nodding in the direction of their waiter who was taking care of another table. "While you were gone, she asked if my wife would like dessert."

She laughed.

"And what did you do? Did you laugh?"

"Nothing. Just told you wanted the fifteen. Was too surprised to laugh."

"I guess I should be glad you weren't 'too shocked to deny'," she chuckled into her drink.

"That too." Andy took a drink of his own and realized what she said, how she said it. "No, I didn't mean that."

"Thank you for the compliment, I guess."

"If it's compliments you want, say the word. I have them. That was not one."

There, another opening.

Which she didn't take.

"No, thank you. I think we know our friendship is based on mutual admiration, we don't need the words."

Her skills at shutting things down were admirable, he had to give her that. He paused for the moment their desserts arrived. She clearly must think the issue closed. Maybe he was pressing the issue too much, too out of the blue.

Sharon tasted her deconstructed Spring or whatever the name of the dessert was. It was just as impressive, just as sweet as the description gave to expect. The syrupy fruits overwhelmed with the taste and she almost moaned at the deliciousness.

Andy paused to watch her have a private moment with the dessert. Seemed to be worth every cent. Sounded to be worth every cent.

"Do you usually indulge in your friends?"

"What?"

He had to have heard that wrong. Indulge in what exactly? There must have been words he missed staring at her licking that spoonful of champagne mousse. Was there a question in the first place?

Sharon gave him an odd look.

"I asked, do you usually indulge in compliments with your other, male, friends?"

"No."

"So why should we?"

"Hey, the day you hear Provenza say a good thing about me I'm happy to die."

"He often says good things about you. To me. In his own way."

Andy smirked. Yeah, 'in his own way'. Meaning 'Flynn's not a total asshole' would be from the sunnier end of the scale. However, why his name would slip past Provenza's lips around Sharon in the first place, he had no idea.

"Do you discuss me a lot?"

"Your name comes up now and again."

"And what do you say? Provenza I can guess."

She smiled that sweet fraction of a smile he had caught from her on occasion and looked away.

"Nothing important."

The flustered reaction made him braver than before, braver than probably was wise. Braver than he had promised her he would be.

"But you admit we are flirting with the line? Even if it's due to the faking thing."

Her eyes fixed on her plate.

"Jack sent me an email," she said quietly, "At work, nonetheless, without a subject so he knew I had to open it."

"What a prick." His vehement reaction surprised her, but instantly she returned to studying her plate. "No, sorry. What did the old fellow want?"

"Strangely, just to ask how his wife was doing. I think."

"You think? He's up to something."

"I am his wife," Sharon said with conviction, her lips curving up in what he hoped was nostalgia, "It was a very charming message. I've always loved his writing."

"Sharon," Andy said placing his hand on hers, trying to meet her eyes, "he is up to something."

"I know, I know." She waved his concern off. "We are not doing anything more than what friends do," she stated with a renewed resolve. "Do you think we are doing something you don't do with your male friends?"

Wanting to ask did she mean dancing or supportive hugs or footrubs or going to dance classes and things, Andy looked into her beseeching eyes and simply lied, "No."


	22. Eggs In One Basket

**A/N:** _Here is Easter for Sally. :) If you didn't guess by the title... __I meant this to be a short crack, but... There you have it. Can be skipped. :) __  
><em>

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><p><strong>Eggs In One Basket<strong>

Coming to Easter, Andy had tried to convince himself of letting deflecting Sharons stew. He had been mostly good taking that advice, but mostly good wasn't cutting it. There was the undercurrent in their actions that made him a little nervous about going too far with her or thinking things that weren't there. Or maybe shouldn't be there.

So, during the last weeks he had watched their interactions critically. On some days it felt wiser to just step back and not even joke in a manner he couldn't do at work. No mention of their off-hours activities (not even off-hours), steering clear of mentioning anything with a personal connection. He had even tried to go as far as watching the touches between them.

That was not the part of him that was convinced she was just full of crap.

On Easter Sunday, while making the finishing touches to the backyard and waiting for the family Egg Hunt at Nicole's to start, the latter side was feeling determined to win. He had given rat's ass about cataloguing their touches. He gave less than two cents about her need to put distance between them with wily rhetorical sidesteps. If she wanted to do that then, well, she was the one horsing around demi-pointe.

As if receiving a sign from some higher power, Andy almost started laughing when he opened an Easter Egg Hunt left-over from last night.

He stashed the plastic egg back in his pocket and waited for Sharon to return from inside. She had diligently made a detailed list of all the places they had hidden the eggs for the boys to find. To coordinate, his son-in-law had made himself the overlord of all Easter fun. This apparently involved much sitting alone in the den watching sports.

Well, nice job if you can get it.

Sharon came out, smiled at him and walked to stand with him in the middle of the yard.

Andy smiled in response and laid out his left palm.

"Here, give me your hand."

With an anticipatory scrunching of her brows, she started raising her right to meet his.

"The other one," he directed.

As soon as their hands met, Andy dug through his pocket.

"What are you doing?"

"This."

Between his right thumb and forefinger she saw something glistening. She immediately started to protest and draw her hand away.

"And—"

"Just a promise ring."

"Still I—"

Realizing she might actually think it as something more than the (bad) joke it was, Andy opened his other fingers to show the definitely trinket base.

"Hey, fake rings for fake girlfriends," he told her with a smirk as he slipped it on her finger. "Pretty good fake, though, just like us."

She was still wary.

"Don't you think my husband would disapprove the gesture?"

Again a clear sign for him to not to get ahead of himself. Andy sighed.

Jack — or 'her husband' — had been pretty much a recurring feature in every one of their conversations for the past month. At first it had made him irritable as hell, but then he had stumbled on a little clue. Every time the old fellow came up, it was preceded with her looking away. It took him a couple of incidents to note that the step before sometimes was her glancing at his lips or her eyes darkening if only minutely. After that, the number old Jackie-boy was mentioned became the measure of how well he was doing on the night in question.

It was not to say he loved hearing about the man's rights or good points.

"If he's here to disapprove, by all means, I'll take his disapproval," he grumbled automatically, without forethought. "Sorry, Sharon. I didn't mean —"

"It's the truth, isn't it?" She didn't want his apologies or to have a conversation about things neither of them could change, so she changed the subject. "Where did you get this?"

"Yesterday." He showed her the plastic egg in his pocket. "The community Egg Hunt. We split the loot when all the kids were gone."

She and Rusty had gone out to help too. 'Help' being very much on the relative side. On Easter celebrations she felt pretty useless, but spreadsheets she filled out fabulously, and Rusty had been totally useless, mostly focusing on eating the candy instead of honestly helping. Good thing they hadn't stayed or the boy would have had a sugar coma to remember this Easter by.

It was also why the invitation for today's Easter fun wasn't extended to him. She suspected Rusty wouldn't have come anyway even if he had nothing more important to do: neither one of them was a big Easter fan so two egg hunts was a bit much, even for him.

Besides, Sharon had wondered how they happened to be having the Flynn family Easter Egg Hunt on Sunday. Probably Nicole and the family had something important yesterday. Andy's ex-wife probably wasn't the reason; she hadn't seemed like an Easter person either this afternoon. And she had already had ample two hours to moan about annoying traditions that didn't mean anything, Sharon later learnt. Apparently the Easter brunch had been an exclusive event.

So, it only confirmed Sharon's suspicions that the Sunday date for the egg hunt was nothing to do with Andy's tradition of helping out with the community center's Easter celebrations. Nothing clearly was on Andy's wishes, but she was happy he could do his favorite annual 'community service', as he had labelled it, nevertheless. And frankly, it was his moment to shine: he was pretty useless in Christmas outreach.

Instead of asking the question about the schedule that had been bugging her since hearing the invitation, the question she asked was, "How many did you get?"

"Dozen, I guess. But as you can see, only needed to open the one. That's an omen if there ever was one."

She chuckled and shook her head.

Andy held her ringed hand in both of his and asked seriously, "So, will you promise me to fake this thing till truth do us part?"

Her laughter couldn't be held back. Catching his eyes, her laughter got new wind. Over and over.

"I'm sorry, I can't stop laughing," she strangled out between trying to catch her breath.

Andy smiled at her, her amazing giggle fit. The joke had sounded good, but he didn't know it was that good.

Just as he was about to comment on her weird sense of humor, he heard Nicole approaching.

"Dad? Can you go help at the kitch—" Both her voice and movement paused as if being stopped by a wall. "Oh my God! What is that!"

Both Andy and Sharon looked the young woman pointing at Sharon's left hand still loosely held up by Andy's right. They shared a look and laughed uncontrollably.

"Did it happen just now? Did I interrupt? I'm sorry."

She started to retreat, but Sharon stepped away from Andy to stop her from leaving.

"No, no, don't go. Your father was just joking." She raised her hand to show the ring from both sides. "Easter egg prizes."

"Oh," Nicole breathed out, a little deflatedly. "Well, it would suit you. Hint hint," she directed at her father.

"Nicole!" Andy hissed in a parental tone.

"Sorry. I know you — But I thought since you were — you know."

"We are good friends," Sharon reiterated.

"Oh."

Sharon could hear Andy getting ready for stiff explanations. She patted his arm, without even looking at him.

"Go help in the kitchen."

"Okay."

Sharon watched him walking out of hearing range, and when he had, she turned to Nicole.

It was her turn to explain the 'just seeing each other' comment.

"I know your father told you that we were... more. And I know he then told you that it was a misunderstanding — mainly, well, totally because of me — and that status hasn't changed."

"But you still... date."

"Of course! We are here, aren't we?" With an encouraging smile, she squeezed Nicole's arm. "Don't worry about us, we have a great relationship and we both went into it our eyes open."

Nicole glanced behind herself, as if she could still see Andy there.

"He likes you," she said like sharing a big secret.

Sharon hummed. "I know. I like him."

Abashedly, Nicole continued, "I've never seen him like a woman."

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright. Haven't kept in touch with him that much."

"I know."

What else should she say? It looked like Nicole had something she wanted to discuss, but was taking the long road to get there.

"Truthfully, I wouldn't probably now either."

Sharon waited for more information, which wasn't forthcoming. She debated whether she should mention she had talked with Andy about his and Nicole's relationship. On the other hand, Nicole had started the conversation.

"He told me your husband encouraged you to keep more in contact with A— your father. Personally, I think it's a good choice. And not just because of whatever it is between me and him."

"Oh?"

"Your parents are the biggest influences in your life," Sharon said thinking she could always tell her what she had told Rusty. "The fact that you have three shouldn't mean you have too many. He wants to make the effort to give you what he can."

"Shame he didn't when it was needed."

She recognized that as what it was: bitterness lashing out.

"It is always needed, even if you don't know it right this minute. It's a shame he missed things, but on this, trust me, better late than never is true."

"How does Rusty feel about that?"

"Well, he — He would want they'd make an effort, any effort. He has hoped they would and I think with his mother he still hopes. There are a lot of whys and what ifs he can't answer, probably never gets the chance to try despite the need. Whereas you do have that chance. Use it."

"So you would encourage him to see and talk with his mother?"

"Well... I'd like to say yes, but in all honesty, at least for now, no. If she gets herself back on track, yes, I will. There are situations where a little breathing space is more than needed. And I don't mean just the likes of his or yours."

Nicole nodded, hesitantly, searching.

"Rather like...?"

"Mine. That's correct. My parents and I, we had a... fundamental disagreement." Well, that was one way of paraphrasing the conversation that pretty much went like 'if you get involved with that boy, you will ruin your life', 'but I love him and we will be happy', 'not here', 'fine, Jack's all I need anyway, here's your key'. "But I'm so glad we got over it." Not to mention how glad she was to be over the humble pie that had been her main sustenance for the next twenty years, she thought with sarcasm. "Not everything can get back to what it used to be, but to have them there for the kids and everything is so important."

"Sounds like you have every perspective available on this."

"Probably." Then she realized that comment implied Nicole knew about Emily and Richard. Oh, well. "The only thing that matters is yours, though," she hastened to add.

"I'd like to believe in this," Nicole sighed with an all-encompassing gesture, "but it all seems a little too good to be true."

"It is, to some extent," Sharon admitted, thinking whether Nicole knew about Jack and how much she knew. Only then did she hear what she said. As an explanation, she said, "Your father is a shadow of himself right now. He is trying too hard to please everyone to please himself."

"Jumping through hoops?"

Sharon hummed her assent, wondering if it had been smart to say that in the first place. Wondering where her mind was to keep making remarks she hadn't meant to make.

"I should apologize to him," Nicole continued, "I have made unfair conditions on him. To test him. Mom's been whispering in my ear," she said with sarcasm. When she noted Sharon's lack of response, she turned sheepish. "I know that's no excuse."

"She has been a bigger influence in your life." Good job, diminish the importance of her childhood and Andy in general. This was going from good to better. "I mean, more constant."

Nicole was totally oblivious to Sharon's distractions.

"When did I become one of those people who took sides?" she wondered aloud.

"When you were born. Everyone who claims to not take sides is lying, remember that."

"You don't. Take sides, I mean."

"Oh, I do. You can't even begin to know how much." In an effort to get out of the conversation she couldn't control, Sharon opted for wry humor, "I just switch them often enough for everyone to think I'm on theirs."

Nicole chuckled.

"Maybe that's the ticket to objectivity."

Both women stood there, each in their own thoughts until the clash of the patio door and the boys engaged in brotherly bickering pulled them both out of their deep waters.

Sharon glanced in the direction of the patio and saw the boys being herded by Andy. He smiled at her. She didn't repay the gesture. Instead she turned completely to Nicole.

"I know that sounded like I was trying to sell your father on you, but as you said, perspective." She heard him jokingly admonish the boys about something and her concentration wavered. "This means so much to him," she mumbled.

Before Nicole could respond with anything, Andy was too close for him not to hear and the boys tumbled next to her in deep chatter.

Rounding his daughter and giving her a pat on the shoulder, Andy asked Sharon, "So, managed to poison my daughter against me?"

With a grin Andy leaned to kiss Sharon's cheek. A hair's breath from his lips touching her skin, he realized what he was doing and pretended to whisper something for her as a cover. Still she shied an inch while he just slipped his hand around her waist, patting her side.

While Nicole had not concentrated on the exchange, being thrust a stubborn pack of chocolate drops to sort out, the older boy rolled his eyes and after poking his brother in the ribs, put one of his hands on top of the other rolling his thumbs. The younger one giggled.

"You know me, I'm all venom," Sharon replied with a trace of nervousness.

"Can we hunt already, can we?" the younger boy interrupted Andy's wondering scowl.

"Is everything done?" Nicole asked.

"Yeah," Andy replied, forgetting Sharon's odd tone, "the others are finishing up at the front. So, anytime."

"Okay, come on then monsters!" Nicole encouraged the boys, "Get your baskets!"

The boys ran towards the house screaming and Nicole tried to direct them to round the house instead of making the shortcut by running straight inside.

Andy started to follow them, but Sharon stopped with uncertainly touching her fingers on his upper arm.

"Earlier," she said quietly, "when you asked if I had poisoned Nicole against you?"

"I know you didn't, you wouldn't," he replied honestly, "you're too sweet to do that."

She did a nervous scoff.

"You did?"

"No! Of course not." Sharon's horrified reaction was maybe an overkill, and she instantly realized he said it only to get her to the information sharing part. "But I think I said something stupid. Please don't get mad!"

"What did you say?"

He didn't sound mad, he sounded impassively expectant.

Well, truth and full disclosure was always the best policy. Wasn't it?

"We were talking about... The whole situation," Sharon started staring at his tie, "She said this felt too good to be true and I let it slip that it was." Pleadingly she paused to give him an apologetic look. "That you weren't fully yourself, that you were trying too hard to please everyone to please yourself. Those were the exact words. She understood what I meant and... Long story short, I accidentally called them on unfairly making you bend over backwards just have an hour with them, she admitted it and you can expect an apology. I am so sorry!" Taking a step backwards to gather her thoughts, she glanced around the silent backyard. "I have been thinking that for a while now but I had no business saying it aloud. Please believe that I didn't mean to." She fiddled with her fingers and bowed her head to avoid his eyes. "I understand if you're angry at me. I am deeply sorry."

She was surprised by a warm hug.

"Thank you."

A hug that didn't let go.

Her arms between them felt awkward, but she didn't know what to do with them. Slipping them up around his neck was a little too kiss-me-girly in their current positions. Slipping them down around his waist was too tight a fit.

She was still debating the issue, when he spoke.

"I've thought that too. How we are always invited late to everything, how I'm always thrown into the deep end without guidance, how this thing feels like a scavenger hunt that never ends." His hands stroked her back while he considered if he should come clean with all of it. Even while his brain was undecided, his mouth worked. "I was starting to think maybe it was just me and I'm not cut out for this at all and it was, would have been, better I didn't even try. Should stop trying now. On the other hand I know I have things to make up for, but... And you know if I'd have said something, I wouldn't have said it nicely. Thank you for knowing I struggle," he ended lowly, almost brushing her hair with his lips.

"You are cut out for this," she told him emphatically and wished she could have patted his back.

"Grampa Andy," the younger boy screamed running from the side of the house, "can you carry my basket while I search?"

"Yeah, buddy," Andy replied when the boy was close enough for indoor voices. Well, volumes you could use while next to someone's ear.

"Grampa? You can't do it if you keep holding her."

"You should go, Andy."

Embarrassed, Sharon tried to push him away.

"Nonsense. Sure I can."

He raised his hand an inch off Sharon's back and wiggled his fingers. The boy raised the basket's handle to meet the hand and Andy clasped his fingers around it, pulling his hand back to rest on her back.

Sharon giggled. Andy winked at the boy over her shoulder.

"See, no trick at all. Go on, run off to find the rest before your brother does."

"Yes, Sir!"

Sharon giggled again.

"Would the Sir please let me go too?"

"No." He squeezed her tighter. "Seriously, thank you."

It took almost a full minute more for him to let go of her. When he did, he watched her smile thinly and look everywhere but at him. With a grin Andy proffered the basket at her.

"Sweets for my sweet?"

She looked at the basket with wide eyes.

"Andy! You can't do that!"

"Do what? Offer you a sweet or call you my sweet? The first I can do if no one's looking and the second I can do if I feel like it. Especially while you're wearing my ring."

Sharon glanced at the ring on her finger before hiding her eyes with the hand and laughing.

"This is insane!"

"Yeah? Then what does it say about you that you only laugh at it?"

"That I'm off my mind!" She rolled her head and fished for words with a wave of her right hand. "You get me all... You are a bad influence."

"What can I say," he shrugged with open arms, "I attract trouble. It's a gift."

He could see she was about to comment something sly, but was stopped by the yell of "Grampa! I need my basket!"

"That's you," she said instead.

"Come join us?" Sharon started shaking her head. Being the backyard monitor was enough for her. "Hey, come on, I too need my basket —", and before she managed to get her eyebrow fully raised, he mouthed, "— case."

The raised brow turned into a super-sized eye roll.

Andy extended his hand. Before taking it, Sharon swatted his chest and muttered something about rotten eggs.

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><p><strong>AN2:** _The Sharon's family comment was another h/c theory I've had. Some things she's said on the show, her financial situation etc. could imply her parents being 'slightly' anti-Jack. For this purpose it seemed good, so ran with it._


	23. Embarrassments, 1 of 2

**A/N:** _This was based on a suggestion from a Guest. The suggestion: 'shopping with Nicole/Nicole invites herself along', the result: this... Can be skipped, but if you've read the other skippables, makes sense to read this one too (esp. after Easter). _  
><em>ProfTweety, ha, imagine my fun writing something I've never seendone. ;) I was like 'eggs, hidden. Kids, searching. Sounds solid, running with it!'. And imagine my shock learning silly Americans didn't have surprise eggs. o.0 Total mood-killer. Probably why the Angst part came to be._

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><p><strong>Embarrassments, part 1 of 2<strong>

"Sharon! Hi!"

At the enthusiastic call above the general background sound of a busy Saturday mall, Sharon's head snapped up from the magazine she was reading. Searching the crowd behind the cafe's rope barriers was pretty pointless after the big wave emphasized by half a dozen shopping bags catching a few eyes beside hers.

"Uh, um, hi. Nicole."

The young woman probably didn't even hear the greeting, but neither of them really cared. She walked straight next to Sharon's table, stopping only inches behind the rope.

"I'm surprised to see you here. No dad?"

"No, I'm alone."

"Odd. I thought he said he was spending today with you."

"He is!" Sharon offered, much too keenly to sound honest. "He's just... well, there was something he needed to do. First," she covered.

"Okay," Nicole said slowly, "Well, hope he is quick or you'll be late." She checked her watch, sending the plethora of backs to rustle a materialistic tune. Deeming the time to be whatever it was supposed to be — Sharon discreetly glanced hers and found it be twenty past noon — Nicole returned her attention to her and pointed at Sharon's half-eaten lunch. "Do you mind if I join you while you wait?"

"No, not at all. Please do."

While Nicole rounded the ropes (on some level Sharon was surprised she hadn't just jumped it), she arranged her things closer together, flicking the magazine shut and into one of her own bags. The two she had under the table seemed pitiful next to the tsunami of bags Nicole's made hitting the floor on the other side of the small two-seat table.

"Well, if this wasn't a nice coincidence," Nicole chattered settling down, "Little shopping as well?"

"Uh, yes."

Impertinently she read the brands on Sharon's bags, raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the recognizable pink one.

"Something pretty?"

Even if she read the question as 'show me!', Sharon wasn't about to bring out... well, whatever it was out in the open. Not that she minded telling, even showing Nicole, but she did mind telling, never mind showing, the whole mall. Or even the next tables. So, instead of actually answering, Sharon only shrugged.

"For a special occasion?"

"Uhm, no."

She thought she knew what Nicole meant by 'special occasion'. As well as the guest list to go with that 'occasion'. Really not a thought to have. At least not in public.

And besides, at the moment, rather than catering the guest in mind to a 'special occasion', she really only wanted to treat him to something 'cruel and unusual'.

"I'm sure Dad will like it, whatever it is. I guess the bag does say it's a 'Secret'," Nicole relented with a wink.

Oh God. Last time she went shopping anywhere else than Neiman Marcus.

Nicole dug for her wallet, wholly oblivious to Sharon's mortification.

"I don't know how my shopping went from a quick morning for myself into buying the whole mall. Hubby dearest will have my skin!" Finding her wallet, she paused to mirthfully add before standing up, "Maybe you can give me a pointer what to buy to distract?"

Oh God.

As soon as Nicole turned her back and she got out of her mortified stupor, Sharon took out her phone and texted Andy, 'Something you want to tell me?'

'No?' he replied almost instantly, like a good officer.

Sharon gave him another chance to come clean.

'Where am I?'

'Are you drunk?'

'No, but you're a liar.'

'Not following. Call you.'

Just as her phone rang, Nicole started walking towards the table. Sharon declined the call, went back to texting.

'Can't answer. Lunching with Nicole. Thinks we're supposed to be together. Where?'

Hitting the send button, Sharon excused herself, "Sorry, Nicole, I forgot to leave a note for Rusty."

"Oh?" The disbelief was marked with the clang of her tray against the table's surface. "He's not going with you?"

"No, it's Saturday. Getting up before noon is not his idea of a weekend."

Sharon's phone flashed the lights for a new message.

'Shit. Getty Villa. Sorry.'

"Right. I'm starting to think you and dad made him up. He's welcome to come for dinners too."

"Thank you," Sharon said distracted (well, fuming) and offered a thin smile, "but I think he's a bit too... cautious with new people. Even my kids make him uncomfortable. And he has a lot of school work still. I'll ask him."

"Yeah, no problem, I understand."

When Nicole pushed her fork in her salad, Sharon apologetically pointed at her phone. It was acknowledged with a shake.

Quickly Sharon tapped out, 'That doesn't even BEGIN to cover it. Told you had an errand to run before.'

Exhaling the temper away, Sharon focused back on the conversation with Nicole.

With an honest effort at an engaged smile, she rolled her eyes and tilted her head towards the phone now lying by her left hand.

"Sorry, kids and phones. So, how are things with — How's everything?"

Before Sharon got an answer, her phone flashed again, this time with a short message of 'Where are you?'

Nicole launched on a long update on everything in her life. After texting their location, Sharon listened with one ear, trying to make a comment here and there. Not a lot of what she was told was new or something she could relate, but it sounded like Nicole just wanted to vent. It was fine by Sharon. While she listened, she could plan on what to yell — no, tell — at Andy when they were in the same room next. The amazing nerve of the man! Never mind the lying part, but not to even tell her he had made something up!

Was it really so much to ask? She had thought the honesty between them had been real. That they had agreed on not lying to each other, no matter if they sometimes had to lie to his family. Apparently not. What did it say about their relationship? Their so-called friendship? If he had been smart about it, he might have said 'oh, me and Sharon, we're going to —' but he would have also bothered to tell her he had done it!

They were going to have words. Oh boy, were they ever.

"So how long does this Dad's 'something' take? You'll never make it if he doesn't get a move on," Nicole asked at the end of her near monologue.

Sharon checked her watch. Good half an hour later. Clearly she had been good enough conversationalist for not getting called on her wandering mind.

"Oh, he said he's on his way," she said casually, what was one more lie after all. "But go ahead, if you need to leave, I'll be fine right here."

"No, no. Might as well say hi. Waited for long enough."

And would wait longer still, Sharon presumed. At no point had Andy offered to come, even if he had asked where they were. Nor did he have any obligation to rescue her, not even to know that she needed to be rescued. She wouldn't hold her breath.

"Would you like dessert or some more retail therapy?" Sharon offered, hoping for the latter so she could fake a call-out while Nicole was a little further away.

"Oh no, we're having coffees with mum and dad later. I mean, my step-father." Realizing she was telling this to the wrong person, she filled the silence, "Retail therapy, yes. Some more, please. We can chat while we browse."

Sharon left Nicole to gather things and took their empty trays to recycling. When she turned back, Nicole was picking up her two bags and laying them on the chair to wait. Making contact with Sharon's eyes, she nodded towards the bags and asked for silent permission.

What the hell. Sharon smiled and nodded.

Nicole peeked through the items and then raised her eyes and brows.

"Very good."

Oh God. The one time she... Neiman Marcus all the way.

The two women rounded the ropes and stopped in order to negotiate their next heading. Sharon's first suggestion was cut off by the recognizable bulk of one Andy Flynn coming their way. Nicole turned around to follow her gaze and made a subdued wave.

Andy practically ran to them.

"Sharon! So sorry it took this long." He pecked her cheek on his way to whisper, "Sorry. Really." After a hug for her daughter, he added perkily, "Hi, Nicole. Fancy seeing you here."

"Hi, Dad. You're cutting it a bit fine, aren't you? Only three good hours left."

Andy used one hand to wrap it around Sharon's waist, the other's wrist he flicked on a reflex. He didn't need to see the hands.

"Almost four." He smirked taking half-a step closer to his daughter to conspiratorially inform her, "But tell you the truth, I can't take her anywhere without limited time frames or she'll never leave. Instill a sense of urgency in her and I'm not bored to death when she gets hung up on details." Andy heard Sharon's amused clearing of her throat. Without turning around, he could imagine the pursed lips and on his arm around her back he felt her bunch her arms. "Don't look now, but I think she's telling me 'I. Do. Not.' in all capitals, right?"

Nicole directed her eyes to Sharon in silent laughter. She was.

"You know I'm standing right here?" Sharon told him with an icy tone.

Turning his attention from Nicole to Sharon, Andy found the look he expected. He wanted to wink at her.

"Yeah, that's the upper case face."

"No, this is the 'I don't appreciate you mocking me and I will make you pay' face. I would have thought it had become very familiar to you by now. Very."

Feeling bold he admitted, "Yeah," and with an affected looking down her body, added, "not usually paying any mind to your face."

The devilish grin breaking on Sharon's lips told Andy he was doing good. He had planned on making her laugh the second after he had hastily apologized in the hopes of not getting yelled at from here to the next decade. Oh, he knew he was going to get yelled at — even worse, hearing a coldly reiterated list of every minute breath he had ever taken wrong — but a little laughter might smooth the sting of her anger a little.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot," Sharon said measuredly, "You're the one who identifies suspects from partial bust shots. The bottom parts, especially. Very impressive skill, Lieutenant."

It took his breath away for a few seconds until he made the connection. That was unexpected. Andy knew she knew almost everything, but to remember a stupid thing from years ago so easily...

"How did you know that?"

She gave an innocent shrug.

Provenza. It had to be Provenza. Her and 'the good things' Provenza told her. Right.

"I will kill him. Believe me, I will."

"What makes you think it's a 'him' you need to kill?"

"Because you're not friends with Liz."

"And how do you know that? Was she even the only woman in the room? Girls talk."

"The Chief wouldn't tell you that."

"You underestimate the power of good Merlot," she countered with a suggestive smile. He was almost ready to believe it, when she took it back. "No, she didn't tell me."

Then who? Who would say a thing like that, to her? Especially the last two words bugged him.

His flabbergasted silence made Sharon's laughter hard to fight.

"Do I need to do this too?" she asked, pulling one palm up to hide her face, the other hand to form a line above her breasts.

Andy stared at her in question for a few seconds. Then he ran through the people in the room.

"Damn. Forgot."

"Evidently." The laughter was seeping into her voice, but she made a valiant effort at a pout. "Well, that teaches me. I'm not unforgettable."

"No, you're not," Andy answered seriously before leaning closer to growl lowly, "You're formidable enough to wipe a man's mind clean."

Looking away Sharon giggled. Again, Andy was sure if she was prone to blushing, mission would have been accomplished. His mental score went up by one. His threat-level decreased one.

"As entertaining as this real-life 'When Harry Met Sally' is," Nicole stopped their interaction fully aware they had forgotten her for a moment, "can I be let in on the joke?"

Now it was Andy's time to go close to red. Really not a conversation to have in front of his daughter! The daughter who thought lowly enough of him as it was.

"No, honey, I'm sorry, I don't think we have the time." Sharon snorted. "You, stop doing that."

"You, stop being funny," Sharon parroted. For Nicole she smiled, and just as conspiratorially as Andy had done earlier, promised, "I'll tell you one day. When he's not there to get embarrassed."

"Okay," Nicole laughed, "I'll hold on to that."

Andy smiled. So would he. 'One day' sounded very good. Very.


	24. Embarrassments, 2 of 2

**A/N:** _Thanks again for all the lovely responses. They make my migraine incapacitated self very happy._  
><em>Omg, the Guest comment with a list of suggestions! Thank you! The ball I won't do (did it in my other story, Perfect Officers ch46), three of the others... sorta coming. Two I'm tempted to do if I get them to fit. :B<em>  
><em>Dietlinde, lo so... Google Translate non è super. E il capitolo precedente era pieno di giochi di paroli verbali. :S (Alcuni anche qui, mi spiace!) Ma mi piace che si tiene fino a leggere! Grazie.<em>

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><p><strong>Embarrassments, part 2 of 2<strong>

"Get your hands off me," Sharon hissed the moment Nicole had disappeared into the crowd after their goodbyes.

Andy was still happily grinning about the impromptu meeting with his daughter, the little skit he got to play with Sharon, the Saturday on the whole and had a hard time adjusting to the total winter suddenly enveloping him.

"Sharon?" he asked in the hope he had imagined things.

Sharon's reply was to step aside and lift his wrist pinched between thumb and forefinger like it was a rotten cucumber. He wouldn't have put it past her to brush the part of her back where the offending item had been resting on.

"Oh come on. I've done worse."

"Yes! Take that damn kiss, for example. What possessed you!"

Andy sighed, deeply.

"Sharon, it was a friendly peck on the cheek. Hardly that."

She scoffed.

"Okay, answer me this," he started to present his excuses, "How should I greet you? You, as my girlfriend. Think of it objectively. If at work we came across two people claiming to be together, who never said an endearment, never touched each other, what would you think? Especially if they have, supposedly, just got together, enjoying their honeymoon phase? That flies while in front of children or in a little more formal surroundings. But while my daughter has no one else to concentrate on, in a relaxed situation? A handshake? I'm not your husband."

"Excuse me."

Subdued — or reining in cold hard fury — Sharon stalked off without an answer, soon starting to make distance between them. Andy hurried to catch her before he had to actually chase her in the corridors of a mall.

"Okay! Sorry," he said as soon as he was only half a step behind her, laying the pads of his fingers on the small of her back, "that was a low blow."

She snapped around, emphasized her words with one pointed finger.

"Don't you, ever, talk about him. I've had enough of unreliable men."

Andy grabbed her arm gently to stop her from turning away before he had the chance to respond.

"Hey. I know. I am sorry, I apologize for my behavior and let me remind you I am an idiot."

Checking the surroundings, he steered her to an empty corner beside a Target. When he had gotten her safely across the corridor, he concentrated back on her. She looked more intrigued than offended. Which was a good thing. Possibly.

"Why would you lie about something as small as that?" Yeah, that sounded like unadulterated disbelief. "I thought we agreed on honesty between us."

"Yeah, sorry. It was just a careless word and I didn't think it would come up again."

"And because you thought it a casual remark, you went to the trouble of actually fabricating a plan for this imaginary outing."

"Essentially, yeah. Sorry."

"A plan you thought not to disclose to me because the whole idea was an accident you thought no one would be interested in after the fact."

Exhaling loudly, he communicated his frustration at the turn of the conversation. There was no point to state the facts of the scenario to him, after all, he had created all of them, single-handedly.

"What do you want from me, Sharon? Yes, I didn't think. Again. Sorry, but nothing I can do about it now."

"I want a little consideration from you. I want you to not lie."

"What about you showing some consideration to me!"

"I, you? I've done you favor after favor for the past six months! I've never asked a thing in return except for you to be honest with me."

"Well, it has been a peach hearing about your damn husband non-stop for the past three of those!"

"What do you care about my husband and I!"

The attack with which she countered his attack made him pause. From the hesitation seeping in through the cracks of her defiance, Andy knew for sure she hadn't meant to say it.

Whatever, why should he care? She said it, he could follow up on that.

"You're honestly asking that?"

"Yes!" Sharon practically shouted, still running on the fumes of their confrontation. "No," she retracted just as hastily and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, this situation is less than ideal. Much less. Were this three years ago..." Indulging in conditionals was of no use. Straightening up, she found her usual resolve. "But this isn't. We are either friends or nothing at all. That is how this needs to go. For now," she added after a pause, softer.

"Sharon," Andy said levelly, hoping to convince her, "your husband won't care were this three years ago, now or three months from now."

"Oh, he will. Believe me he will."

"He is not coming back."

Hearing pity seeping into his voice made her let out a cold laugh.

"Do you think I expect him to come back?"

The sadness in his eyes told her that indeed he did. It cut the sarcasm out of her.

"Okay," she admitted, "I do, but not like that." Watching the people passing them with glazed eyes, she finally brought herself to admit, "And we both know Jack's not the only issue here."

That had been sounding awfully lot like an opening to the conversation he had been hinting to want for weeks, months even. She didn't want to get into long-winded conversations about details and nuances and possibilities; it would do neither of them any good, nor would it change the result. The door needed to be closed, firmly and for all.

Strongly, she went for it.

"We keep on having what we have and if you want a... non-faked something more, you find someone else. Until then, you have my friendship and the sham that we are. That's the only choice."

He was silent for a while, disbelieving that this was the conversation he was rewarded with.

"And what do I tell my family when I change women?"

"Do you have to tell them anything anymore?" Sharon countered easily, almost flippantly. It infuriated him. "They know we are friends and think that I told you no to anything more. Not everything needs to be a problem."

"That's rich coming from you."

She stared at him, impassively, for good ten long beats.

"We both know I didn't deserve that and you only said it to hide your helplessness."

He stepped closer to her, trying to intimidate her off the scent by getting in her face.

"Stop understanding and analyzing me!"

"I'm sorry." Stepping half a step aside to diffuse the situation, she continued calmly, "But I have news for you: I do understand you," and adding a soft stroking of his upper arm, finished just as softly, "Always have."

His sigh was shaky as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Can't you be just like normal women!" he spat out and made a backwards turn.

She was glad of his turned back for the second she couldn't control her upcurving lips.

"And how is that?" she tried asking without too much amusement coloring her voice.

Andy paused just long enough for Sharon to realize she had failed.

"Ditzy. Unpredictably moody. Self-focused. 'Sit still and look pretty', not this opinionated and independent crap."

She laughed, freely and honestly.

"I love your idea of women. Though, in contrast, I am sorry to inform you, you are a very typical male. No matter what kind of a woman you have, you're still disappointed."

Thinking he should say that not having the woman, no matter of the exact kind she would turn out to be, was the source of his disappointment right now, Andy failed to see the humor.

"No. Don't say it. I value our friendship."

At least she was respectful enough not to tell him 'just get over it'; a fact they both were glad of.

"What, now you're telepathic as well?" he said flatly, showing clearly his indecision between humor and distaste.

"No, I'm just guessing we think alike." Sharon's attempt at humor failed on the side of gloom. "Don't ruin us."

Andy nodded at her precatory tone. She went to studying her fingers and the handles of her shopping bags between them.

Fat load of good had waiting done for him and his chances to influence the conversation or its outcome. However, she had said 'we keep on having what we have'. He could deal with that. Especially since he thought to sense the aura of dejection in her.

That or she was just uncomfortable as hell.

"Yeah," he said for no particular reason and for comfort stroked her arm.

Quietly, she said, "But you're wrong," and flicked her hair back behind her shoulders, "There is something you can do about this."

"Tell me. I'll do anything."

"Take me there."

"Take you?" It took a moment for him to connect back to the original topic. "You want to go see the Getty Villa?"

"Yes. I've never been and I don't want to get embarrassed if someone asks. They will not understand my lack of worldliness."

He responded to her small effort at a joke and a smile. Even if it wasn't totally unexciting, that offer — no, request — made only forty minutes ago, would have sounded a lot better. Still, there were things to say for lukewarm if you tried hard enough. And Andy vowed he would.

"You sure? You have the time? Rusty won't mind?"

"No, I'll tell him I happened to meet with a friend."

Her eyes connected with his straight-on and he watched the last of... something fleeting flick out of them. She replaced the foreign mood with one remark she pretended to accidentally leave ambiguous.

"He's very understanding."


	25. Intricate Things

**A/N:** _This is for the Guest who had a list of suggestions. :) I meant to write something with Provenza, maybe with the side-order of another suggestion, and graze on the whole Box of Mystery territory, but this refused to go here. If this went anywhere at all, it's here. But, it's Provenza and bad suggestive content and teasing, what's not to like? And a little 'aww' moment *and* it's surprisingly under million words. It has everything, everything, I tell you! (Also, it's skippable.)__  
><em>

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><p><strong>Intricate Things<strong>

Paperwork. The thing you did because you had to, only when it was completely unavoidable and even then you did it with much complaining.

Or that was the usual take on the subject. There were some exceptions — some formidable exceptions if you asked one Andy Flynn — but most old-school police officers (the ones who liked the word 'cop') were definitely not of that breed.

Thus, an odd ensemble remained on 'paperwork Friday', the last Friday of the month. Gone four and the luckier ones had already bailed. Gone five and even Tao had managed to leave the cleaning of his keyboard for a later date. Gone five thirty, Provenza had found a new speed going through his piles of paper and Andy was still lumbering through with a wandering mind. It didn't help he had relocated to Sykes's desk on the theory of 'shared misery halves'. It didn't.

It was only the three of them — two cops and the formidable exception in her office — that enjoyed the energy saving lighting plan the city had adopted. It would have made the place look dim and dangerous if it wasn't gray and boring as hell. The mood was set for irritability.

A point Provenza proved soon enough.

"I can't believe it!" he snapped opening yet another file folder, "The woman has redlined the whole report. Six pages." As if needed, he showed the top page with red marks in the margins. "Why can't she take her broom and fly away to annoy someone else?"

Andy would have laughed if his urge for that particular response hadn't been subdued by the previous twenty papers he had gone through.

"Sharon's not annoying. She's nice and she even likes you. She just wants things done properly for all of us."

"She 'likes' everybody, it's a game," Provenza spat out. "And that serves as a warning to you." A paragraph into his re-typing, he remembered to hiss, "And don't call her that!"

Summoning enough energy to roll his eyes, Andy couldn't help himself. He was yet to ask what did Provenza want him to call Sharon — her. 'Captain' just didn't sit right when he was talking not as an officer to another but rather as a friend to another.

His dull musings, Provenza's aggressive typing, faltered when their solitude was broken by the third wheel to their misery rolling closer with a wake of clicking heels and faint perfume. Both men glanced at her approaching form, but made no further connection in any way, leaving her to open the conversation or go where she was going.

As it turned out, she was heading straight to them.

Provenza groaned in discontent disbelief, expecting that path leading into more work for him.

Instead, it lead to more more things to groan about, he learnt the moment Sharon was in a reasonable conversation distance.

"Andy," she started touching his shoulder with the fingertips of her right hand that moved to rest on his upper arm when she took the last half-step to stand beside him, "could you do me a favor?"

Turning in his chair fully, he smiled at her.

"Sure, Sharon." The emphasis he put on her name and the devilish grin he shot at Provenza was backed-up by Sharon's mirroring of the gesture, but for her smile being a nervous flicker. "What do you want?"

"Rusty —"

Andy stopped the words with an upturned palm.

"Say no more. Forty-five?"

Sharon nodded.

"I have a meeting. And —"

"You do what you do. I'll get him."

She nodded again, squeezed his arm.

Andy returned the gesture with a patting of hers when she made to leave. It got her to shoot him a look with pursed lips which he had become to understand as a very restrained smile.

When he rolled the chair around again, Andy came face to face with a deep stare from Provenza.

"What?"

"Could you two stop doing that touchy-feely stuff here? Makes me throw up my lunch and it wasn't that great being in the view the first time."

"You're just jealous she doesn't do that to you," Andy answered instinctively wondering if they did do 'touchy-feely stuff' at work. If they did, they should tone it down.

"The days I want her to touch me in any way are long gone," Provenza answered with a sneer, "She has her new lapdogs to pet."

"Got burned, old man?"

"Better believe it." He wagged a finger at Andy. "You'll get yours if you don't stop!"

Andy couldn't help rolling his eyes as he went back to his papers.

"You're just jealous. Going back for seconds, greener grass, having what you can't and so fort," he rolled out with the help of a hand gesture.

"You forget who she's been confiding in. With all my intimate knowledge, I could have her if I wanted. I don't."

Confiding? Intimate knowledge? The distaste in Provenza's voice? The lack of yelling? Simple protesting?

All those questions together made Andy lean back in his chair with a gleeful smirk.

"You're right! Never thought of it like that — Sharon's totally your type."

"She is not! And don't call her that!"

"What, annoying, bossy, stubborn, correcting you at every turn and —" he turned around to look her from head to toe, "— not too bad to look at." Stealing another glance, he noted she was looking especially good today for a reason he couldn't pinpoint. "Tell me that is not your type."

"She's too old for me. I don't date women over thirty."

"I know. And isn't that what gripes your ass." He paused to fill out a number on a form, and then casually added, "Especially knowing she shops at Victoria's Secret."

Momentarily he regretted not saying 'knowing her ass is covered in Victoria's Secret'. But maybe the lapse was a good thing; he himself didn't particularly want to speculate her ass in... well, any way, period. Not right now, maybe later.

Provenza had much the same idea, at least judging by the paranoid look and stormy hissing.

"Flynn! You better not know that how I think you do!"

The spiteful part of him made a further tease that, in retrospect, ended up hurting his own concentration.

"Can't imagine her wearing lace in hot pink?"

"Dammit, Flynn!" Provenza slammed a pile of papers on his desk for further emphasis. "You can't —!"

Whatever he thought Andy couldn't was forever forgotten when the topic of their conversation walked closer to check on the yelling and throwing things.

Her voice was filled with uncertain concern, the folder cradled against her chest singing a similar story.

"Is everything alright?"

Provenza threw his hands up and exhaled loudly. Andy didn't look at her but knew Sharon would want a verbal answer.

"Fine, Sharon. He just can't take a joke."

She walked closer, emerging in Andy's field of vision.

"Sure?" she asked of both of them.

"Yeah, Lieutenant Grumpy here has forgotten how to laugh."

Sharon tried a feeble smile and an even feebler joke.

"I'm sure it's not that bad."

Provenza didn't smile back, instead dug a folder out from one of his piles.

"Well, Captain, while you're here, could you sign off on this?"

Provenza pushed the open folder across the desk and Sharon took another step closer, standing a feet from Andy's side.

"What is it?" she asked, purely rhetorically, leaning over the offered document.

While she was engrossed on the form, Andy happened to note the way her blouse gave a good view of her chest, right at eye level. If you happened to look right at the edge of the fabric — and honestly, why wouldn't you? — you could see the first few minute fractions of an inch of the things the silk covered. It was not hot pink, not even pink, but that tell-tale broken edge you couldn't mistake.

Discreetly attracting Provenza's attention, Andy directed his eyes to the view by a minute tilting of his head and pushing his eyes as far into their corners as possible.

"Lace, told ya," Andy mouthed as Sharon signed whatever Provenza had given her.

Provenza's fists hid his eyes. He might have silently grumbled unkind things about the Universe, but that remained between him and her.

What had gone wrong in his life for him to end up here? Trying to keep the love-sick Romeo away from the unlikely Juliet while trying to stop the Juliet from making his own life nineteen different kinds of annoying was not the thing he should be doing at this age. Come to think, the Juliet should not be doing anything in his life at his age. He had never appreciated classic literature.

And when had Mr. Casanova turned into Romeo? Nothing was going to plan, nothing. Maybe he should retire and not worry about all of this. Go fishing on the last Friday of the month and not even think about paper, idiot friends acting all puppydog, witches turning sweet women, Romeos ruining their careers, Juliets wearing hot pink lace... Oh God.

"Lieutenant?" Sharon's hand wavered, making the folder's corner bob. "Are you sure everything's alright? If there is a problem —"

"About damn time," Provenza snapped out of his reverie and snatched the folder away like a squirrel snatches an offered peanut. "Your signature's not worth that much."

"Oh."

It was all she could get out in her surprise. Silently she cocked her head for Andy and scrunched her brows in question. He shrugged. Damned if he was going to say anything to her about Provenza's mood. And by previous experiences, Provenza might have been acting all Provenza for a different reason by now.

While Andy was contemplating his friend's mood, Sharon retreated back to her office. When no further clicks of heels sounded, Andy was brave enough to poke the bear.

"Maybe you can imagine the hot pink lace too well," he offered with a raised brow.

"I am being serious. Whatever you think you're doing, cut it out. By all means joke with her, share a meal, but keep in mind there are lines. And those come well before seeing the tags of her bra. Do you want to end up as another Gabriel and Daniels?"

Okay, he was still feeling all Provenza over Sharon. Perhaps he should ease his mind.

"Hey, don't worry. I know Sharon's married and all the rest. It's friends or nothing."

Their budding conversation was again halted by the nearing sound of her heels against the floor.

With purpose she walked straight to where Andy sat, placed a hand on the back of his chair. Before she had managed to reach down towards the desk more than two inches, Andy picked up the folder and her pen she had left the last time around. Raising them next to his ear he remained impassive, didn't even look at her.

She grabbed the things and with a voice filled with laughter softly told him, "Thank you."

He didn't react until her fingers slipped from the back of his chair to his arm. That elicited a small (foolish) grin from him.

Unbeknownst to Andy, Provenza watched Sharon exit back to her office, pulling her door closed with a twirl and a smile.

Provenza let his head fall back between his hands. Fishing trips on Fridays sounded pretty good.

"Oh God," he grumbled, "hopefully at least one of you has some sense."


	26. Shammers, 1 of 2

**Shammers, part 1 of 3**

For months, Andy had tried being firmly in the friend zone with her and he had succeeded. Now, in the midst of another family dinner — a regular occurrence these days — even if he had been accepted to family events without her hand-holding as well, to his dismay, he found those other times, those times when he was alone, were not as pleasurable. Oh, they were fine enough, easy enough. But something, he felt, was missing.

Sharon seemed content with their new relationship. Perhaps she had been lulled into believing whatever had inspired him to challenge their relationship had passed. It was no lie; the urgency with which Andy had attacked the line had dulled into a standard pushing. Silently, he had even made a rule for himself about touching her. He never did it, if she didn't do it first. Not at work, not off-duty.

If she had noticed, she hadn't commented.

If his family had noticed, they hadn't commented.

However, he had noticed she did touch him plenty, but he didn't comment. Usually he was free to touch her by the time they reached his car at her condo's visitor parking.

Tonight had not been the winning success their outings had a habit of being despite of everything. Sharon was more subdued than usual, quiet and pensive like she rarely was in company. The way she escaped after the preliminary chats with everyone while waiting for the food to cook told of that. Sure, she had been nice, polite, engaged and she had even laughed, but the moment the boys ran upstairs to wait with a game and Nicole and her husband retreated to set the table and finish preparing the food, she slunk off.

It took Andy some time to realize she hadn't just popped to the bathroom and walk after her out to the patio.

He debated whether he should come out and ask her straight-on what was the matter or whether he should try getting her to say it on her own accord. Or maybe he should just try to uplift her spirits, no questions asked.

"How did you know to ask if the boys helping out at en pointe classes meant lifts?" she asked with some false amusement in her tone after a minute.

Andy lounged against the wall and waited for her to turn around so he could took her temperature, and if it looked fine, feign ignorance. She did, tilted her head in question.

She looked like she was in need of a good laugh. So, when no reply arrived, she did the little tippytoe steps she always did. Andy smirked.

"Lucky guess."

The smirk might have been too strong, for she guessed, "You tricked me."

"Can you blame me?" he shrugged with glee, and wanting to make her laugh, told her playfully, "I love seeing you give me context clues." Walking upto her, still wanting the laugh, he came straight to her personal space and whispered, "Your demi-pointe work is great."

Instantly her head shot back.

"My — How do you —"

He did the innocent boy shrug that clearly told everyone he was guilty as sin.

It garnered no laughs. Instead, she bunched her arms and turned unattractively Captain Raydor.

"You obviously knew all along. You tricked me."

"Come on, this — as opposed to everything you seem to think as funny — is funny." He placed a hand around her waist. "Can't believe you honestly had no clue I was faking it all these months."

His chuckles pushed her even further, and she stepped back letting his hand fall off.

"This is not funny. This is me being lied to. Again."

"Sharon, it's not a big deal. Yeah, I knew what 'en pointe' meant but wanted to see you explain it to me. Repeatedly. A joke."

"You played me. But oh no, it's fine, this is all based on a lie anyway!" She threw her hands up and made a few step sized round before coming back to face him with a pointed look and lips pursed into a narrow line. "I do not like to be taken for a ride, Andy."

"Sh—"

His response was cut off by the sound of the door opening. Immediate his nerves were grated by his ex's haughty voice.

"Our daughter wonders where you've got to." She took in the scene; Sharon standing there with stormy look, Andy frozen still, neither looking anywhere but at the other, however not really seeing each other. "Would you like me to tell her you'll be crawling under a rock in a minute after this relationship implodes as well?" she asked spitefully.

Andy scoffed.

"We'll be back in in a minute. After we finish the private conversation."

"Very well." She took a few breaths more to assess. "So, what did the bastard do this time?" she directed at Sharon, "Twenty, no probably thirty these days, and blonde? Kind of his MO."

"Nothing like that. Thank you for the concern, I can handle him."

"Well, he never was the sharpest tool. Just know whatever it was, he will do it again."

"Thank you for the advice, I don't need back-up."

Andy caught the smile directed at his ex-wife. It was a familiar smile, a very dangerous smile for all concerned.

"She really doesn't."

The simple statement was a warning to both women: a warning to back off while still possible to one, a warning to think before doing something she would later regret for the other.

The blazing eyes in front of him and the definite lack of the sound of a door being used told about the futility of the attempt.

"Look, I'm really only trying to help you out," his ex still tried, "Women need to stick together, especially —"

"Thank you!" Sharon snapped and a took a menacing step forward, "This is none of —"

Andy grabbed Sharon by the waist and pulled her back.

"I would leave right now," he helped his ex-wife.

"Only trying to help."

Only when the door was firmly shut again, dared Andy to loosen his hold on the woman beside him. With the unnecessary gestures of shrugging him off, Sharon started pacing again.

"That woman is impossible!"

"Well, yeah," he muttered thinking 'that' woman wasn't the only impossible woman in near vicinity, "there are reasons why we are divorced."

"If she's always been like that I seriously question what you ever saw in her."

"It's called loving someone despite their faults." He didn't know — still doesn't — what made him add, "Maybe a foreign concept to you."

If he was looking for a way to freeze the situation before it escalated, in a way, he succeeded.

The wide eyes and the slack jaw, as well as the way she blinked in plain surprise, he would have achieved just as easily if he had gone and physically slapped her.

"Thank you, Andy," she breathed out slowly and stalked past him towards the door.

"I meant Jack."

It paused her at the door. She turned around to look at him for few seconds before slipping inside.

"No, seriously, thank you."

The smile she left with him in between those words made him cold to the core.


	27. Shammers, 2 of 3

**A/N:** _Wow! I'm humbled by your response. o.0 Thank you, each and everyone! Hope the rest of this will live up to at least someone's expectations (I sense slightly conflicting wishes...)._  
><em>MajorRizziles, oh, that would make everything easier. Maybe I should make them do that right now and call this done... ) (Well, would be an improvement for the following.)<em>  
><em>ProfTweety, ha, I guess I broke her with stern lecturing. x) I considered posting something completely else to get pressure if that'd help, but didn't really find anything nice so went searching for new prompts and even riffled through 'Perfect Officers' cut-offs in hopes of inspiration. Yeah, definitely scraping the bottom of the barrel here. xD Alas, the spark is gone ATM. Writing, what a horrible mistress! <em>

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><p><strong>Shammers, part 2 of 3<strong>

Having taken the time out to retrace where in God's name this thing went so totally wrong, as well as to marvel at his ex-wife's uncanny ability to smell an implosion through brick walls, Andy was none the wiser as to why Sharon had seemed lacklustre tonight. He hadn't dared to indulge in too much of a retrospective in case the two ladies decided to clash again over — or even worse, to agree on — his shortcomings. No, he had deemed two minutes sufficiently ample for cooling off.

Andy crossed the house with a mission to talk with her again, and, at some point, slip in an apology. Though he was very much of the opinion that he had not been in the wrong here and was not the one needing to plan for an apology. Sure, he had been an ass if you looked at it so creatively, but she was over-reacting in her lousy mood. In his book, she was the unreasonable one right now. In her book too, his unhelpful subconsciousness helped, she most likely was.

The demon on his shoulder told him to ditch the understanding and go yell at her. It didn't sound appealing in the least. If anything, he felt bad for comments he hadn't even said. The temperamental part of him wanted to throw up at the wimpy idea. Maybe he couldn't just be mad with her, in any degree, any more. Wouldn't that be the kicker!

He stopped mid-chuckle to his own insane musings. She was standing in the corridor, pulling on her coat.

Running away.

Great.

Just absolutely fucking great.

"You're going?" Andy asked with a sneer.

She didn't get the memo, luckily, thus only answering with her usual quietly determined tone, "I am. I'm sorry for — that."

"And not for sneaking off?"

"Well, that too. Tell them something came up and I had to go. Apologize."

"Shouldn't you go and tell them yourself?"

Why should he make any excuses for her? He had given enough excuses to his family already, so sorry for not feeling ecstatic over this prospect.

Briefly he congratulated himself for keeping his finely-tuned sarcasm to himself. Mild snark he could live with. The red-clad dude on his shoulder whispered praises for managing to be a shadow of his old self.

"Easier if not," she said mutedly and went through her pockets.

"Easier for whom?"

"Oh give it a rest, Andy!" The raised voice seemed to catch Sharon by surprise and she paused to stare at the wall to calm down. "Fine, I'm a coward for going without facing the disappointment I cause. I'm not in the right mindset to keep arguing or to offer measured apologies." She turned to tie the sash of her trench, biting out, "But you forget this is all a sham anyway, it doesn't matter."

Those words garnered a vehement objection from him and to top it, he made a split-second decision for good or bad.

"We are not a sham, Sharon. Yeah yeah, the perception of this is a sham, but the friendship is not. Stay there."

"Andy, I —"

He wouldn't hear it.

"Stay, there," he repeated sternly and left her.

Sharon couldn't hold in the surprise. First the man lies to her, then offers hurtful remarks about her life and then dares to order her about! The nerve on him!

She should leave. Go out, walk a block and call a cab. And block his number.

Why wasn't she going? Come on, Sharon, grab the handle and walk!

Or she should behave like an adult, apologize for ruining the night, leave, calm down and call to apologize and explain later.

Why wasn't she explaining anything? Trust him, open up, woman!

Yet she knew she was incapable of doing either. It would have been better not to come today. Cancelling wouldn't have mattered, still, for some reason she had wanted to come.

Andy came back shrugging into his jacket, paying no mind to her surprise nor her contemplation.

"Alright, let's go."

Sharon was even more surprised he wasn't surprised she had stayed. And she was surprised he was going.

"Andy, you can't leave," she managed to say in her stupefiedness as he passed her, "Stay, don't ruin the night."

He stopped in his tracks and straightened his collar.

"If you're going, I'm going."

"Don't be a stubborn ass!"

"I am and will forever be."

It was said with pride and it made her scoff.

"You are not blowing off your family for me. We can continue the fight whenever."

"I'm not blowing them off and we are not going to fight," Andy laid out plainly.

Again with the self-assured certainty!

"You are starting to get on my nerves," she warned him.

"Add the 'Lieutenant' if you like. No? So let's go."

Sharon sat down on the hallway bench with another scoff. When had she become the irritable one in their relationship? He didn't seem at all fazed. Apparently her irritableness needed some finesse to get to him. What a deflating thing to notice.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked of his shoes.

"I could ask you the same question."

"I'm a moody bitch. What's your excuse?"

"I'm a stubborn asshole who's not giving up on a friend," he told her softly.

"So rather you give up on your family time. Well," she blistered, "makes sense, you're practiced in it."

"Yeah, that's it. Feel better now?"

"No."

The quiet admission bowed her head and the way she stilled made it evidently clear that she was more hurt by her words than he was, so Andy crouched down and placed a palm on her knee. She hid her eyes from making contact with him.

"Look," he said keeping his approach as soft as possible to tell her he wasn't feeling as confrontational as he had pretend to be, nor was he taking her words to heart, "Sharon, we can keep having the impasse trading insults if that's what you want. We can sit here and sulk. Or you can give in, we'll leave and talk about what's really wrong."

"Or you can stop being an asshole and go spend the evening with your family," she started distantly before turning venomous again, "After all, it is what you needed. What you want me for."

Sharon realised she probably made a mistake with the verbs, but still offered him an icy stare.

Andy's return was an impassive one. He could wait, not every poke deserved a push back. She was vulnerable, she was lashing out and emotional in a way he hadn't seen from her before.

"What if I don't want to do this with you," she filled the silence, "have you considered that?"

He hadn't considered anything but.

"Well, let's have different choices. We both stay or we both go. Whatever happens then we'll negotiate later. Your choice."

"And I've made my choice! You stay, I go. Why is everything so damn difficult with you!"

Her vehemence forced the corners of his lips upwards. She was adorable, fighting free with feeble lashing out without realizing he had her no matter what. Without realizing there was nothing stopping her from going if she truly wanted to. Unless she wanted to delude the both of them into thinking a simple touch from him could literally ground her. Giddy with the laughability of that thought, the grin couldn't be stopped to the corners only.

"Because you're a stubborn bitch —"

"Dad? Sharon?" Nicole called out from down the hall, "I thought you needed to go." Getting no response, and having only heard her father, she stated plainly, "You're fighting."

"No, sweetheart," Andy contradicted, eyes still fixed on Sharon, the palm on her knee never moving an inch, "we are not."

Nicole wasn't that easily deterred.

"I can't believe it! This was too good to be true. Mom and Dad in the same building for a dozen times in a row and no fights. Should have known it was just an act. Players changed."

The hurt and disappointment grated Sharon's insides and measuredly she tried to comfort her without taking her eyes off Andy, "Nicole, it is not what you think. I am trying to convince your father to stay."

"A fight is a fight, be it over cheating or newspaper sections," she stated plainly. "I'm getting so tired of this. The boys shouldn't have to hear all of the adults in their life constantly fighting. Why do I bother!"

"I — I'm sorry." She broke the staring contest to plead with the distressed young woman. "This is all my fault. Please don't blame your father one bit. I am behaving poorly and he is trying to stop that. He is not fighting with me."

"Really?" Sharon instantly recognized the confrontational stance Nicole had adopted, largely because the girl's father had graced her with an identical one time and time again over the years. Even the tone was filled with the same challenge as she went to remark, "Bitch is a term of endearment now? Didn't use to be where I grew up."

Thinking of her and Andy's confrontations and the way the word 'bitch' had used to sound escaping him as opposed to how it had sounded just now made Sharon's lips quiver.

"In this case I think it might be," she barely managed to tell Andy before breaking into a full smile.

"Well", he said with a supporting smirk, being straight off on the same page, "traditionally my fondest thoughts of you include the word bitch or witch, so I guess it must be."

They laughed and Sharon reached to squeeze Andy's arm.

"Sorry."

"Apology accepted. Now, if you would be so kind as to give in as well, we could stop upsetting my children."

"I'm sorry, I won't give in. I am leaving, you should stay. I am nothing compared to your family," she tried to persuade him, "We can talk later, but you have so little time with them."

"If I stay, I'll wind up upsetting them even more by fretting over you."

"So, we're back at square one. I won't let you leave and you won't let me leave alone."

Andy stared at her in contemplation.

"We need to start thinking creatively. You could always stay. Yeah, yeah," he dismissed the protests she was gearing for, "not good company. But you could wait right there and not move your stubborn ass until your stubborn ass will be done."

"Or 'my' stubborn ass could surprise all of us and sensibly do as I tell him for once. I know, I know," she countered with a roll of her eyes, "why break a habit of twenty years."

"Standoff," he concluded with a smile.

"Standoff," she agreed.

"Or you could always ask the only rational person in the room?" They both turned around, completely having forgot Nicole listening in on their sparring. "The rational person here says," she pointed from herself to Sharon, "you, don't be stubborn. You're very kind to think of Dad and us first, but it's alright to put yourself ahead now and then. If Dad wants to do something nice and take care of you, you let him. And you," she pointed at Andy, "don't be so stubborn. You're not always right, so do as she tells you on occasion. Take care and don't let go of her. She's good for you. Go —"

"See," Andy interrupted his daughter with no little amount of glee, "even she agrees with me!"

"So you're both wrong," Sharon responded affectedly imperious, "You really should stay."

"Hey, rational person not done!" Nicole almost jumped on her feet to get their attention again. When she had it, she continued more levelly, "Now, if you two would stop bickering, leave and go make up, we could try a family dinner tomorrow, just the six of us, alright? Acceptable compromise?"

"Fine by me," Andy answered with a wild grin.

"No arguments from here," Sharon conceded.

"Good. Now, out," Nicole told them shooing Sharon to her feet and through the front door, "And if we could manage tomorrow without another lover's spat, it would be appreciated," she finished slamming the door closed behind their backs.

Standing out in the darkening Sunday afternoon, the wind carrying the echoes of sirens and traffic, they just stared ahead too dumbfounded to keep walking.

"She called this a lover's spat," Sharon mused aloud after a minute.

"Yeah, I noticed." Andy sighed and shook his head in chuckles, "Well, this fight is asinine. Fight or whatever you want to call it."

The laughter came to bite back on his ass, since it got her to snap again, "You knew I don't like lies and still you chose to do it!"

"Hey, hey," he tried calming her down with both palms and a sympathetic tone, "Sharon, you aren't saying me playing dumb on dance terms is this big a deal."

"It isn't," she directed past his shoulder, "but it shows you can't be trusted. That I shouldn't think you're someone I could..."

The rest of it faded into the hum of traffic and wind. Andy waited for her to come back to the thought, to reformat it like her custom was.

When there was no second attempt, he prompted, "You could what?"

Her soft tone was gone, her pensive look turned to focus.

"Doesn't matter. A lie is a lie, to misquote your daughter."

Andy sighed, again. This push and pull was getting old. He wished she could either yell at him or talk to him, reasonably. Either or, not this mix of both. He was quickly finding he did have his limits where it came to her.

Last chance for nice and soft.

"Sharon, what is this about?"

She scoffed and looked away.

Fine.

Confrontation it is. Her choice.

"You can show your displeasure all you want, but I'm just as stubborn as you."

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but it's none of your business."

"Sorry to say, but if it makes you bite my head off and upset my children, it is my business at least up to a point." Imitating her line, the one that started all this, in the hopes of getting her to relax again, Andy cocked his head and pried, not as gently, "So, would you like to tell me what's wrong or do you want to keep being difficult?"

"The latter, please."

Her terse statement led the situation to tense silence.

Fine. If she wasn't going to talk, he wasn't either. See how long she lasted.

Andy prepared for a long, long, standing around in his daughter's driveway.

He was happily disappointed not minutes later.

"Know that this is nothing to do with you," Sharon filled the silence softly, "it's just other things in my life."

Well, that cleared up a lot. Not. Women, he was never going to understand them.

Andy knew he was out of his depth. Something he didn't understand had happened. Something that made her run hot and cold and everything in between. In a way he was proud she felt safe enough with him to lash out, but in another way it painfully told him she wasn't safe enough. She felt the need to hide she was uncomfortable, conflicted and very much out of her depth too. That he understood, but for God's sakes, the woman could try opening up.

To achieve that, he tried once more. Gently, softly.

"Other things like what?"

"Like those crappy things that are none of your business."

"So why get hostile with me?"

"I'm not hostile!" she denied with explosive force which made her look away, in shame, he presumed: her emotional outbursts seemed to take her by surprise. "We should quit while we are not that behind," Sharon summed more evenly and stormed for the car.

As Sharon reached the handle of the passenger's door, the matter was closed with an order barked over the roof.

"Get me home."


	28. Shammers, 3 of 3

**A/N:** _Thanks again for the reviews, they warm my heart._  
><em>Guest, oh no, I do like (some of) 'the fight', I was just saying what if Andy walked in, saw Sharon leaving, called her an unreasonable bitch and she jumped his bones? Improvement, right? ;] (That comment might imply what part of it I like the most...) <em>  
><em>ColeMax, thanks. :) Hope you'll get to finish the process before this ends... ;D<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Shammers, part 3 of 3<strong>

'Getting her home', as per request, happened in silence. She fumed, but only mildly. Andy threw sideway glances at her in an effort to read her, but never got further than debating if she was more sad or mad. The ambiguity confirmed him that she was immensely bad at dealing with emotions. That more than deal with them, she wished to fight them.

Mile by mile she grew calmer, though. Her usual impassive, hard, front was built with every passing yard. In a way, Andy understood. She couldn't go home snapping at Rusty. More than that, she didn't want to.

Briefly he thought if he should take her somewhere else than home. Where, he had no clue.

So, to her condominium he drove. Like every other time, he drove straight to the visitor parking and killed the engine.

Like every other time, only when the car was at full stop, she started to gather her things.

There were just few things to clear before.

One of them started with him lowly asking, "What about tomorrow?"

"Oh, you can count on me to play the charade with you."

"I don't want it to be a charade." Andy took a deep breath telling himself 'don't snap, don't snap, don't snap'. It helped, somewhat. "I mean I want us to get along," he explained, "not to play getting along."

She sighed and cut the cold tone.

"Maybe better I won't come. I can't promise getting along with anyone without some dishonesty."

"Then I'll have to cancel."

"Andy," she sighed again, more tired than anything, "don't do that."

"I'll do it if I have to. Not like I'm desperate to answer three hours of questions over an empty seat."

For the third time, she sighed.

"This isn't going to work." Pinching the bridge of her nose, she took a moment before admitting, "I'm not really mad at you."

"Could have fooled me."

Mild displeasure felt good, though probably it was uncalled for now that she had sighed out the sharpness of her irritation and softened.

"I'm mad at myself. Angry and upset." She stared outside in deep thought. "At some point I've made a habit out of doing stupid things without thinking."

Andy threw his hands up in mock relief.

"Finally! Welcome to the club."

"As much as I appreciate your efforts at making me laugh, please don't waste your time tonight."

It was not the words as much as it was the lack of sarcasm that made Andy shut up. For maybe a minute he was sure she was going to cry any second now. Praying she wouldn't, he concentrated on staring at the sun visor's fastening clips. Why did they still make those out of plastic? Surely they broke all too easily. They looked cheap enough. He personally had never had to replace any, even when they did break, but would imagine others did and often.

Or maybe it was that metal substances would react badly to the constant temperature changes and resonance of the car's tires.

He bet all his money that if he had paid any attention to English at school, there was an allegory staring at his face right there.

"My marriage is over," Sharon let out quietly, almost desolately.

"I know."

"I don't mean the separation, I mean over."

"I know."

She turned to him, her face going from surprise to annoyance. Apparently he wasn't supposed to know or admit to knowing so easily.

"You... know?"

One word was questioning, the other accusing. Classic. Well, at least she was keeping true to form.

"Yeah." What else could he do but admit? "Known for days."

"He told you too."

"Who did?"

"Jack!" The raised voice hit the car's interior walls and again she startled. "He couldn't wait a whole minute to tell Rusty."

"Oh, haven't talked to him. Well, without you present," he interjected in the name of honesty, "Provenza told me."

"Provenza knows?"

"Yeah. A tip: if you want to keep something a secret, you don't leave it where everyone can see it, especially amongst people who get paid for being nosy."

Sharon stared at him, with no sign of recognization.

"Divorce papers on your desk while we had that video conference about Alice," Andy cleared the confusion.

After some more staring, she chuckled, self-deprecatingly. It sounded good to him and Andy had a hard time fighting the soft smile.

"Well, no A for effort at hiding it. I told you I wasn't thinking clearly."

"At least now you can laugh about it. Wanna laugh some more?"

Sharon simply nodded.

"Provenza thinks you did it for me. Because of me."

The fit of giggles was her first response.

"Sorry, Andy," she strangled out the minute she could catch her breath, "This might bruise your ego, but I didn't. Though I did it for a guy."

"You did?" he asked with affected surprise, "Should I be concerned?"

"That depends on whether you see younger men as threats."

"How young?"

"Barely eighteen."

"Oh." Rusty. It cut the joking. (And whatever small tinge of jealousy he, quite habitually, had to feel.) What if Sharon had put herself out there, went and got herself a divorce and the kid had told her to dream on? She wouldn't be able to handle that, not at all. "Is he... Does his mother know?"

"Not yet. You are the only one who knows besides me, him and Jack if they haven't told anyone. He's thinking about it." She broke into a smile. "Tentatively a yes."

"Congratulations."

Rolling her eyes, Sharon added, "So excuse my shitty mood-swinging self."

The dirty word made him grin even wider.

"Always."

She leaned the side of her forehead against the headrest and sighed, "I'm an emotional wreck."

"If I say 'yes, you are', how bad will you hurt me?"

Looking affectedly threatening, she dropped out, "Say it and try."

Andy threw his palms up.

Well, wasn't that the heart of the matter. Divorce, bad. Adoption, good. Polar opposites.

Then he started thinking why in the world would her divorce count as bad? It was not like she was madly in love with — him still. The divorce wouldn't make her destitute. No custody battles. If she was thinking about the shame and the stigma and the heavenly repercussions, well, then, she should move on from the Middle Ages.

Maybe it was just the giving up she hated. That would certainly clear the being mad at herself.

It was certain there would be a lot of upheavals, a lot of mixed emotions and small battles to weather. What he could do for her, was to offer her a sounding board, an uncomplicated friendship. It would take effort, but he vowed to start trying.

Suddenly he was very glad of his restraint in snapping at her, in being mad at her.

First order of business: get her to laugh.

"One thing I'm glad of," he started, "though."

"What's that?"

"For at least the third time you've made me feel like the supremely calm, rational and level person I've always thought I am." Her face went from total surprise to a sweet smile. Clearly she wasn't expecting him to approach the issue from the angle he chose. "And patient," he added proudly, "Forgot that too."

"You are. With me." She punctuated the statement with a couple of errant chuckles. "Though I object to the third."

"Object all you want, I am the one being calm and rational, so your objections don't really matter, I'm right by default."

Before she could respond in any way, Andy unfastened his seatbelt and got out of the car, rounded it and opened the door for her. She fumbled with her seatbelt, grabbed her purse and arranged her heels out of the door. Letting her fingers trace the edge of the window beam, she pulled herself to full height, straightened her coat and stepped aside.

Andy flicked the door shut as she flicked her hair behind her shoulders. He straightened and offered her a supporting smirk.

Sharon cleared her throat and pushed one hand in her pocket, then, completing the one movement, pulled it out.

She turned to look at the toes of her shoes.

"You could always say what you are thinking, you know," Andy helped her.

A smirk flickered on her lips, but she returned to looking at her shoes.

"I'm getting old here."

"Are you channeling Provenza?"

"Hey, I can quote the man where he is right. Say it or stop fidgeting, you're making me nervous."

She let out an amused hum, but her shoes were still very interesting.

Andy waited out a moment, but the stubborn sigh he couldn't swallow prompted her to enquire, "Could the petulant bitch get a hug?"

He was surprised of the request, but pleasantly so.

"Always that too," he said softly and wrapped her in a gentle hug. Small things to make her happy.

Seeing that he prepared for a quick and gentle gesture, he was surprised by her unexpectedly fierce grip. Andy was tempted to tell her there wasn't any wind to blow him away even if he wasn't cemented to the ground. Then he amended the thought with another about needing some breath to achieve that. And as a third piece to the set, he could use her as a tourniquet if the need ever presented itself.

Finally, when he was contemplating nudging her off of him, she whispered a 'thanks' and stepped back. She didn't look at him, but he thought she would need a moment to gather herself anyway, so he simply placed a palm on the small of her back and started walking her towards the elevators.

Only through the elevator's shiny metal door did she meet his eye, sheepishly.

He jumped at the chance with another offer.

"Do you want to ease up the stress a little? We could talk to Nicole tomorrow. About us."

"Are you ready?"

"Yeah. She likes you and she tolerates me. I think she can be reasonable about it. I think she already knows," he rambled, "so it's just a matter of saying it aloud."

"If you're ready."

"Yeah. Not looking forward to telling the rest of them. Though Nicole's probably going to clue them in anyways. And truthfully, I don't think it — this — really matters to the others," he analyzed and steered her in through the opening doors, "I don't know why this matters to her."

"We can postpone."

"We've been postponing it for the better part of a year," he countered.

"Doesn't sound good when you put it like that."

Was there any point anymore? He had told them they were friends, she had told Nicole they were friends. Slowly Sharon had been coming to the side of the lie not being an issue. Too much had happened since, what was a hand on your waist between friends? At some point the original circumstances of their friendship didn't matter to her in the least.

Would Andy still be extended the same level of courtesy he had earned now? She hated to think him coming clean now would cost that again. Couldn't they just agree to pretend things had fallen like he had went and told they had? Him thinking they were together, her telling him no, agreeing to be friends. It was a minute lie not one of his family could prove.

His daughter hated lies.

They — her and Andy alone — needed to talk about this before he went and said something stupid.

Sharon put a pin on it.

With a sigh she stepped out of the elevator and Andy turned to look at her with concern. Her smile was feeble and shy.

"I'm sorry for tonight," she finally said just a few steps from her door, "I will apologize to everyone." Pausing and turning around to face him, she looked at him through her lashes, "And I will make this up to you."

He thought she was adorably flustered about all of this. Emotions, clearly not her thing.

"You better," he said with a wink.

Instead of getting her to laugh or roll her eyes, it got her to look at her fingers again and mutter, "I'm sorry."

"And I'm sorry for — well, the joke. And especially for the idiotic comment of — you know."

Great, now they both were feeling awkward and sorry and bad for stupid things, Sharon thought. The grimace overtaking his face was not a way to end the evening, so she pretended not to understand.

Tilting her head anxiously, to which he responded with immediate alarm, she asked, "You don't really think my demi-pointe is great?"

"I don't know," he deadpanned realizing she wasn't going to fall apart at the reminder rather than the anxiousness was all a fake, "maybe you should refresh my memory."

His hands motioned for her to get on her toes. In turn, she transferred her weight more firmly on her heels and rolled her eyes.

"Good night, Andy."

Checking his watch, he commented, "It's barely gone seven."

A coffee would be nice, he thought but didn't say it aloud.

"Good night," she repeated with a smile and went to push her key into the lock, before twirling around to softly add, "Andy."

For a moment they only watched each other, trying to find a good thing to say to keep the evening going or a definite bye that won't make the evening feel cut short. When nothing seemed to come, he wasn't sure which one of them first moved in for the embrace, but he was fairly sure the kissing of her hair was all his idea.

"Sorry," she told him again, a little sadly.

"Hey, thanks or making me look good by comparison," he whispered to her while the movements of his arms brushing against hers turned into caresses, "And what are friends for."


	29. Hypothetical Safety

**Hypothetical Safety**

There she was again, sitting on his daughter's overly plush lounge, flailing between feeling comfortable and being on her toes. Tonight more so than usually: at some point, someone — probably Nicole — had come up with the great idea of adults' get together. The boys were at dance camp, his son was on vacation and around more. Andy had called the evening's program as 'fights and baby pics' but so far there had been mercifully little of either. But she would keep her guard.

In fact, most of the evening had been about finger food, too many drinks and talk about nothing. And her feeling like the odd wheel out, though less about that after Andy had convinced her no two drinks, or the four his son-in-law had, was bothering him. She nursed her first one until round three (round five in his son-in-law's case) when she accepted her second she hardly touched.

Sharon couldn't, however, help but feel like an outsider from the moment Andy had left alone at the end of the couch, sitting ram-rod straight in front of an amazing arrangement of decorative cushions. Where the lounge was grey, utilitarian, a sport fan's wet dream, the arrangement of the cushions was clearly bright, eclectic and well-thought out. Nicole obviously liked pretty things, everywhere. Sharon especially liked black-and white chevron on —

She sensed someone standing beside her and she turned from stroking the corner of the object of her interest with a smile. The smile faded to surprise when the man standing over her wasn't the one she was expecting.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

She was extended a grog glass of something she couldn't recognize.

"Here, looked like you could use one."

"Thank you," Sharon said politely, her hands making no move while her gaze rose from the glass to the man's eyes, "but Andy just went to get me one."

"He got distracted," he said nodding towards the kitchen. Sharon looked over her shoulder and could see the Flynn kids leaning against a counter, smiling, the arms of their mother gesticulating something and assumed the edge of the cabinets hid Andy. It looked like something other than a fight, so maybe it was a good thing. "Thought I could do the gentlemanly deed," he broke her study and she turned her eyes back to him. The drink got extended further towards her. "Poured it just for you."

"Well, in that case, thank you." Let it not be said she was rude — and she had wanted a drink. Taking a brave gulp she almost coughed and hid her mouth with a palm. "Uh, strong."

Her companion only smiled at her, a mixture of his normal smile (as far as Sharon had noticed) and the one you would offer a pretty baby or an adorable puppy.

"Don't tell me you're that girly."

"No," she said and cleared her throat, "but that implies you think I am somewhat."

"You are," he replied easily and backed to sit next to her, right where Andy had been sitting not five minutes ago. He leant back, threw a cushion from behind his back away and made himself comfortable. Sharon had to turn a little towards him to keep the conversation connected. "Age-appropriately so," he amended, "Womanly sounds so... old and stuffy. Not pink and blossoms enough."

Sharon giggled, her cheeks having been ready before to quickly start feeling that red warmth of the drink.

"Would it surprise you to know that absolute no man has ever associated those with me?"

"No? What a shame." He took a sip of his drink, extended his arm to rest on the mountain of accent cushions filling out the corner of the large lounge. Teasingly he added, "Well, I've heard Flynn's not that bright."

Sharon took another sip and fought not to cough.

"Bright enough for me."

The airiness in her voice made him pull back straight next to her.

"I wonder why you'd want him. Do you know who he is? You could do better."

Clearly Andy had taken her apprehension about their plan of coming clean to Nicole to heart. He had mentioned it again, they had discussed it, but they had made no agreements. It sounded like he had not gone to announce anything to the world.

So, this was the 'warn a silly woman off' conversation. Two could play that game.

"Have you wondered why he'd want me? He could do better, in fact, he has done better," she said meaningfully and took a sip of her drink. "And I know plenty. More than you."

"I'm sorry, of course you know him better, more intimately. I didn't mean to suggest that."

"Oh, I know." She laid soft fingers on his arm — the left one; it being the only one she could see without twisting — to convey her apology. "I didn't mean to sound standoffish. I meant it as a fact. Twenty years is a long time to learn of someone's personal and professional failures."

"Twenty years? That should have been long enough for you to come across someone better." He took a sip and grimaced. "That sounds horrible, but you know what I mean. More eligible."

She giggled again and rolled her eyes.

"First you call me girly, then you call him eligible. I've never asked you, what kind of a writer are you?" Andy had made snide remarks about the man trying to be the next Shakespeare, but failing to reach even Dan Brown or something similar. She had paid no attention, for a reason she didn't know, but she remembered laughing about Andy's comedy run. Even if pressed she couldn't remember at what level did he write. Hobbyist? Published? Work-related? Scientific? Fiction? "Romance?" she asked aloud.

"Yes," he deadpanned and looked at her appraisingly before continuing, "Now I'm writing a story about a winning brunette whose calling is to redeem lost causes. Not just people; situations, things, anything. I'm a little light on what makes her tick. Especially when it comes to men. She doesn't feel like someone who acts on pity and compassion, so maybe she's an excitement junkie, loving her bad boys. Or perhaps, she is weak and submissive, craving for a strong man's approval."

"Daddy issues?" She smiled cryptically at his ideas. "And you made a fatal mistake in your assumptions. Best submissives are not weak and they don't crave for a man's approval, they crave for his pleasure. And only that."

Part 54 in the series of 'Things Suspects Have Shared With Me And Will Turn Out To Be Useful At A Party', she thought with a hum. The series was turning out to be broader than she could have ever imagined.

Busy wondering if other officers used details like those — she should ask Andy about it, he would have some stories to tell — in social gatherings, she completely ignored the sly smirk and palm on her knee.

"And how good is she? Does she please?"

"So far? No complaints, no punishments," she replied on autopilot.

Well, strictly speaking, Andy had not done either. Though on that thought, did it mean she thought herself as the submissive party? Not likely. But this was about someone else's fictional brunettes and... whatevers. She glanced back at the direction of the kitchen. They were still talking and she found herself wishing she was there to know what that thing of Andy's they were laughing at was.

"Ah, sounds like a boring sub."

That comment piqued her interest.

"Really? Sounds like any man's dream. A woman to fill your every craving, no questions asked and nothing wanting."

"Okay," he relented with a smirk, "sounds too perfect. No talking back, no nagging? She needs to have a Texas sized flaw. Must have."

"Maybe she smokes."

"That sort of a thing is more seduction technique than it's a flaw."

She chuckled and leaned closer.

"Maybe she's a sinner."

"Show me a person who isn't."

"No, I mean the serious kind," she said affectedly serious, "Ten commandments, deadly sins, the full set."

"What, pleasing a man to death? Mort, non pétit?"

They laughed at the bad pun until Sharon was silenced with a palm on her shoulder. She twisted her neck to find the source. Meeting Andy's completely unamused dark eyes, she tried to rein in the laughter, even against the protestations of her quivering lips.

"Sharon? Can you step aside for a second?"

She nodded and turned to excuse herself with another one. Standing up, she was already several steps behind Andy and had to follow him all the way at the exit of the room. He waited for her, not turning around, making her round him in order to come face to face.

"What did you need?" she asked, "Was everything alright... out there?" She threw a nod towards the kitchen.

Andy dismissed her questions, only leaned closer to her face and as if by reflex, she opened her mouth and exhaled; though not as strongly as if asked.

"How much have you had?"

"Two, three, some. Well above legal limits. He offered me something strong," she said raising her almost empty glass.

Andy took it away.

"You're drunk."

"Not yet. Don't intend to be." She heard her flippant tone, added a little less confidently, "You said it was alright."

"Your cheeks are flushed."

Again he triggered a reflex and she touched her cheek.

"Well, I'm seriously hoping it's the drink and not the flirting," he continued, "You must have a death wish luring my ex's man."

"Well, I've done it once already," she responded playfully. When her effort was left unreturned, Sharon defended herself, "I wasn't luring him. I wasn't even flirting."

"Well, he certainly thought you were luring him and I'm pretty sure he thought you were flirting with him."

"I wasn't. I don't even know how to flirt!"

"Sure you don't," he said immediately with no little amount of mirth reserved for those words only before going back to uncomfortable, "But what ever the case might be, you looking like that, being all cosy with him and talking lowly about... adult things —"

"Sex, you mean sex."

"Well, yeah. Those things together and if my ex had walked in on you, this wouldn't be an awkward conversation with you, rather an awkward call to the hospital over you."

Sarcastically, she scoffed.

"He was just doing research."

"Well, he is an empirical guy, very hands-on, have to give him marks for that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, the possessive arm around you for the first place. Hand on your knee for second. Or are you telling me you didn't notice him doing it to you?"

She hadn't, she realized. Saying which would be kind of unfair, since she had noticed Andy doing it instantly. Unless that was a good thing?

Whatever the case might be, she shook her addled brain loose, she would veer off from it.

"Have you noticed you start everything you say with a 'well'?" Now it was her question left unanswered, so she made the needed poke, "Is this some twisted jealousy?"

"No," he denied without a moment's thought, "this is friendly concern for your safety."

"I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." She giggled.

"What?"

She stepped closer to confess, "He thinks I'm girly." She laughed, the air tickling his neck.

He couldn't hide the amusement in his chastising of her, "Well, you're acting girly enough, that's for sure. Not that it's a bad thing, mind you." Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. Something was bothering him, she could see it. "I don't know what his game is, but be careful, with married men, but with him especially."

"What makes you think he is playing a game? It was just a chat."

"Sharon, he was flirting with you while his wife was in the next room. In his stepdaughter's house. He is either extremely stupid or playing a game. Less of the former seeing he has lasted with her this long. If you can't see that, you really are drunk."

Sharon thought it over. No, stupid he was not. Taking Andy's view of the conversation as a premiss, doing... that without some sort of an ulterior motive was nothing but stupid. How could she have missed that?

Easy. She wasn't used to being flirted with. At?

Come to think of it, when had she last flirted with a man? Seriously, not just idle joking between friends.

"I think — I don't know what to say."

Comfortingly, Andy patted her arms.

"You don't have to say anything. Like you say, you are a big girl. You are the best judge of what to do. If you want to flirt, you do."

Did she want to flirt? She glanced past Andy's shoulder into the living room. Had she wanted to flirt, with him?

"Was it flirting?"

"Are you honestly asking?" Sharon nodded. "Boy, you really need to flex those muscles."

Self-deprecating, she chuckled. If she was meant to be a modern divorcée, maybe some sort of a general, academic, knowledge of the mechanics of the thing should be attained.

After all, she was sad enough for someone to tell her 'go, work on it'.

"I might be a little hazy on the current line. Always thought it was all this," she flicked her hair and wetted her lips, "and this," Sharon continued and pushed her chest forward while twirling a lock of her hair and tilting her head to reveal the expanse of her neck, "and 'are you just happy to see me?' and things. That was just riffing on a joke."

"Well," he flashed his eyebrows at her and she rolled her eyes, "those were very good options too. In the early eighties. Now men like the joke part too: it's more about finding a balance. But know there are safer guys you could practice that with."

"Safer?" she mused, still hazy on that definition as well. Not to mention 'early eighties'! That meant she could have, had, been doing things she hadn't realized for the past thirty years. And with him — she couldn't even think his name in the context, but maybe it was the drink that had attached 'Andy' so readily to the pronoun — perhaps.

"Yeah. Like me. Just say the word, I can give you the feedback, if you want."

'Give you the feedback'. 'The feedback'. 'The'. Sounded like she had been flirting with him. Damn. Okay, the one smile and shrug she could admit doing fully aware... a hundred times. But the rest of it, not flirting. Joking. Innocently. Honestly.

Damn.

"You're safe?" she mumbled, wondering if you should apologize for inadvertent flirting after the fact. He had been safe, if indeed she had grossly flirted with him. Rarely had she had the need to tell him to step back, even if she had invited him to... well, whatever. So, mostly safe. Safe-ish. Not wholly dangerous, at least. Damn.

Only thing left to save herself from complete embarrassment was joking about it.

"I don't think I have ever heard that being said and I'm not sure I believe it. You do have your reputation."

"Hey, -er, safer," he mockingly corrected and leaned closer, "first thing any newly single woman needs to know: no such thing as a safe man."

As the scent of his aftershave and soap washed over her, she closed her eyes for a few breaths before looking past his shoulder at the back of the man still sitting on the couch.

If this was the relatively safe option, that one there must be pretty damn dangerous.


	30. Hindsight, 1 of 3

**A/N:** _Special thanks to the Guest who commented. If you are the same Guest as the one who got me writing 4th day of Raydormas and that Provenza thing, well, then, you are brilliant for my muse! The slump got a slap and a little Interruptus coming up. Later. __  
><em>

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><p><strong>Hindsight, part 1 of 3<strong>

Sharon's morning off was threatening to turn into a day off. Everything took longer than expected and she had the nagging feeling of being late everywhere and missing things she shouldn't. Of wasting everyone's time.

Of course, nothing could be helped, she told herself. The dentist couldn't be rushed, the traffic couldn't be cleared, the queues couldn't be jumped. Not even the three pushes of the elevator's call button couldn't rush the last leg of her journey.

"Sorry I'm late!" she called the moment she rounded the corner into the murder room.

She was treated to a view of an empty room. Clean desks, empty board, dark computer screens.

Well, nearly empty. One occupant remained.

Her eyes trailed over the room to him.

"Where is everybody?"

Andy rolled his chair out from under his desk and shrugged.

"Gone home."

"But —" She looked down at the paper bags full of treats for the team. So much for thanks and apologies in the form of lavish coffee breaks. "It's hardly noon."

Andy rolled his eyes at her hurt tone.

"A joke. Remember them? Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer."

"It's not a stupid question, I am really asking."

He sighed and went to take her things. First sliding a hand under the box of files — including her coat and some miscellaneous things he couldn't see too clearly — and then the other through the handles of the deli bags. The joint of his thumb grazed her knuckles but neither made a note of it.

"It's noon on a work day," he said balancing the box and motioning her ahead of him, "They are, oddly enough, working. Where at right this second, I have no idea. We have a Captain for that stuff." She glanced over her shoulder with an unamused glower and he nudged her arm to keep her walking. "I can call them if you want, but everyone'll be back before twelve thirty. Left me here to 'hold the fort'."

What he failed to mention, was that he had volunteered to do so. Not that any of the others had tasks he would feel envious of: all grunt work, all tedious and very important.

"No, that's fine," she said placing her things on the desk and getting her jacket off, "Can you update me?"

"Well, yeah, kinda why I'm standing here," Andy told her drily from the entrance of her office, arms still full of her stuff.

She rolled her eyes and went to get the box from his arms.

"You are impossible this morning."

The bags he deposited on the chair closest to her door and went to take a seat before her desk.

From his vantage point he watched Sharon laying the box on her desk, throwing out her coat over the jacket she had divested of and deposited on the corner of her desk, then detouring to the cabinets behind her desk to hide away her purse, then going back for the box, digging out her phone, searching her side for a jacket pocket in which to put the thing into and failing to find one, laying it on her desk. Then she went back to her coat, dug the jacket from underneath, hung it on her chair and returned to her coat, picked it up and went to hung it on the coat rack.

She stopped to gather the paper bags ending up to absent-mindedly throw the coat on the rack.

"You are all over the place this morning," Andy commented on her way back past him.

"Well, I had the dentist and Rusty made me pick up —"

Andy silenced her with waves of both palms.

"Doesn't matter. Take a breath and close your holster."

She stopped abruptly to look at her waist. Sure enough, the snap was open.

"I didn't even —"

"See, all over the place." Sharon sat down on her chair and tried to move the bags aside to see him, then fumbled through the box searching for something. "We're not in that much a rush."

"I don't like being late," she commented but got up to start arranging the things away.

She laid pens in a neat row, took out two files from the box, rifled through the others, hummed and pushed the box into a cabinet behind her. The bags found their place on the cabinet. Then it was time to order the paper piles neatly, throw two pens into a drawer, push her cell to the side.

After all this, she stopped and asked, "Now, please?"

Andy approved her prep with a nod.

"Okay," he started to list the things he had jotted in his notebook. He dug the thing out and started reading. What the team was doing, new leads, every minutiae he felt she would be interested in that had happened since she last set foot in her office.

While Andy laid out the details, Sharon read through the files she had brought in. When he launched on giving her the run through of her schedule, she moved to clearing her inbox.

"— then you have a meeting with Taylor at half past one and we," Andy geared for the last few lines he had jotted down, "me and Provenza, are going and transferring the evidence." He watched her shut a file and nod. "Oh, and the DA's office called, meeting for you next Thursday at quarter to eleven. Checked your calendar, told them it was fine and to send you an email of the details."

"What are you, my assistant?"

Shooting a look down on him over her glasses, she picked up a post-it to show him. In his handwriting, it listed the id numbers for the files she had asked for and a note about the procedure of requesting them.

"Here to serve, ma'am."

"Because if you are, I need to remind you to proof-read my correspondence for grammatical errors."

He snatched the piece of yellow paper from her fingers. Andy squinted at the post-it and on the third go spotted the typo.

"Hey, if you want qualified help, go hire someone else. They don't pay me enough to mind my language."

She chuckled and opened an envelope from her mail pile.

"I'd say that's just a Jersey thing, but..."

Her words trailed off as she concentrated on the paper inside.

Copying the numbers into his notebook, in case of further use, Andy balled the post-it and threw it in her paper bin.

"Fine, in the future, go sort out your own affairs."

After his office sports, he noticed her having tuned him completely off. Her look was hard to read, but he thought he discerned shock, tenderness, dismay, adoration — quite a bunch of different things, really.

"Sharon?"

He was deemed to be worth of a half-hearted hum. Fine, he could wait until she finished.

A minute later, her eyes jumped at the top of the page and met his for a second before going again to the letter.

"So how's everyone's favorite actor doing?" Andy asked seeing a faint smile spreading on her lips as her eyes moved lower over the paper.

"Huh?"

"The letter." He waited for her to glance at him around the edge of the sheet before clearing his reference to Mr. Wonderful he had watched her (distastefully) drool over with Hobbs, "A warm thank you for the amazing hospitality you showed him and the homely respite you managed to offer the stressed star, attached with a dry cleaning bill for the spilled drink on his t-shirt, signed by his assistant."

Her smile faded.

"No, it's not that."

"Yeah? Then what gets you looking like that?"

Without a word, she offered him the letter, watched him read it.

"That's a good letter." Glancing through again from 'My Dearest Sharon' to the promises of eternal at the end, there was not much subtext to interpret. "He loves you," he concluded handing the page back. Gotta hand it to good old Jack, he did have a way with words. And it clearly still affected her.

"That is not about love, that is about want," she scoffed and folded the paper back into its envelope. "What he wants. Today that something is me." Tilting the envelope, she checked the postage. "Well, I was what he wanted the day before yesterday."

"Pretty bleak view."

She cocked her head.

"On what? On him? On men? On love?" she spat out. "The world is pretty bleak, and I don't need to tell you that."

Sharon paused to think what kind of a message it would send to anyone if she just tore the letter up right in front of Andy. He probably would misunderstand. Glancing at him above the rims of her glasses, she thought it better to wait to be alone before any symbolical gestures she might want to make.

Andy caught her eyes and calmly remarked, "Not every relationship is like yours."

Whether it was meant as a dig or a reassurance, Sharon didn't care to think. Her head was filled with think of the meanings of a completely other man.

"Thank you, I do know that," she said tersely as she flung the top drawer open. Preparing to fling the envelope inside, she quietly added, "Ours wasn't like ours either."

"Things happen."

"That they do," she said with an effort at a smile before letting the letter drop in the drawer.

The drawer caught as she tried to close it. Turning her focus to the problem, Sharon pulled it back out and saw the envelope lodged partly over a red box. Rearranging for the box to lay on straight over the pens and other bits and pieces for it to fit in in the first place, she slipped the envelope to lie flat next to it.

There they lay, two things she hadn't wanted but got nevertheless. One was too late, the other...

Why didn't she want it? Why hadn't she wanted it?

Come to think, what was 'it' exactly? She smoothed the red ribbon contrasting over the white of the envelope. Oh, to have x-ray vision. And the ability to forget on cue when things turned out to be something she rather did not know about.

"But hey," Andy added too chirpily to lighten her up, "future is a new promise and all that."

She looked up from the visual representation of her inner debate without really hearing nor understanding what he had said.

Seeing he expected something from her, so she meekly commented, "Uh, yeah."


	31. Hindsight, 2 of 3

**A/N:** _Without actually giving anything away, this is dedicated to the long list of people who commented during the Christmas fluff. Especially the Guest(s)!__  
><em>

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><p><strong>Hindsight, part 2 of 3<strong>

The morning started early. Too early, seeing that they were at the office until morning. Against all his better judgement, Andy had drunk a potfull of coffee and it made him dash for the gents' as soon as the elevator arrived at their floor.

Heading back towards the murder room, crossing the elevator landing with purpose, he was almost tackled by Sharon exiting the car straight into his lap.

"Whoa."

"Sorry...," she said automatically but too slow, like she was searching for what happened, "Andy. Should've paid attention."

She stepped around him, but he caught up with her instantly, searching to grab her arm.

"Hey, hey, wait up. You're upset."

"I... It's fine."

"Yeah. Very. So?"

Checking the surroundings and finding them deserted, Andy steered her away but only the few steps further down the corridor and closer to the wall. Settling to stand, he waited for her to speak. The memo was slow in circulation; it took good long ten seconds for Sharon to look away in decision to come clean.

"The boys. They don't get along. No, I don't want to talk about it!"

Again she started at her own outburst.

"Sure?" he asked laying a palm on her arm. "It's a big deal."

"It is, but I'm too upset to talk. Now."

His fingers dropped from her arm and on their way down ghosted her waist. It was too much touching at work, he knew, but decided that her need for comfort trumped propriety. And hey, she had hugged her team members, what was a hand on her arm. Especially this early in the morning — most of the people who could see them were still at home enjoying an unhurried breakfast.

And if the hand never got back down to his side, well, then, things happened.

"I'm too upset and too tired," she expanded finally meeting his eyes. The question was evident in her eyes even before she voiced, "Would you mind talking with me, later?"

"Yeah, just drop by any time."

"I mean... In private. Off-duty."

His fingers stilling behind her back, he stared at her deadpan.

"Sharon? You do know I have a house? I don't cease to exist when you switch off the lights here."

The dryness in Andy's tone made her tilt her head. A smirk fought through despite her efforts.

"Really? I always thought." For further proof she tapped the light-switch and was rewarded with a chorus of muffled 'hey's. Tapping down his arm like a blind person searching for something in a foreign environment — never mind the more than ample light straining through from the windows and open doors — she announced her conclusion, "Nope, you're right. Still here."

"Regular comedienne," Andy remarked sourly and reached to tap the switch, "The talent the world has lost!"

"I like to think so." The practically flirty shrug didn't alleviate his sourness much, however much feigned it had been. It might have been a mistake, for she quickly turned pensive again, fiddling with her fingers. "But... You wouldn't mind talking with me? After all, it went so well last time." She chuckled, self-consciously, but he was standing rigid, like a question mark. "I called you an asshole. Repeatedly," she reminded him.

"Oh, already forgot," Andy replied with a few chuckles of his own, "But you didn't call me that even once. I could see you were thinking it, but you didn't say it, not once. Remarkable restraint."

"I didn't?"

She could have sworn...

He shook his head.

"However, for future reference, I'll tell you a secret." Andy stepped even closer, mindful of not being improperly so, but close enough for it to be appropriate to communicate sensitive information. "You can call me whatever you like, any time you like." Her starting chortle was cut short by him pulling back in distaste. "On second thoughts, definitely not. Drawing the line at 'smoochums' on a crime scene. And 'sweet-legs' anywhere. That's totally you, I might get confused."

The chortle reached its completion.

"So 'honeybuns' totally alright?"

They both froze, took a wide sweep of the surroundings. Sexual harassment seminars, hello. Almost in unison, they tilted their heads in 'I won't tell if you won't'.

"Totally," Andy said slowly dragging himself back to more comfortable ground, "The boys will adjust."

The degree of comfortableness was relative, he soon realized.

Tiredly, she sighed and hid her eyes in one hand.

"Andy, not now."

"You know my number."

"Oh. I thought —"

"Sharon, an expression."

"Oh. Right."

He nodded, her answering smile was faint. She clearly was unaccustomed to asking for things.

Trying to get her to think of other things, maybe even to get that smile ignited, he added casually, "And whatever it is worth, you are funny. Well, can be. Could be. If you put your mind to it."

It was not a smile as much as it was pursed lips and a totally fake squint. Good enough, he thought, as she pointed a finger at him and retreated in the direction of her office.

For Sharon, it was not good enough. A little harmless... sparring, she would like to call it — but what the hell was 'honeybuns'?! — was nice while it lasted, but the central issue remained. The boys didn't get along. Rusty was unhappy, uncomfortable, unsettled while Ricky was unkind, uncaring, ununderstanding. She was left very deeply unsatisfied. The awful case remained unsolved. Everything was un- everything!

Rusty had tried to warn her. She was too blind, too taken with Ricky being home again.

Maybe she was lonely to react like that, she theorized with mirth.

One thing she had decided on the way over. The 'good' letter from Jack belonged to the shredder. Not only had Jack ruined the offer to Rusty, he had to have a hand in playing up Ricky's misgivings. The boy always listened to his father, Jack always got to him, even when Ricky tried to keep him out of his head. They were too similar. When an idea stuck, it stuck. Nothing else mattered, there was not an argument to which they wouldn't be blind. Jack was a master at making Ricky play his game and again it turned against her. Her fault, probably, for pushing them together.

Her fault, for choosing the man in the first place, if you wanted to go there.

High time she took actions to limit the fallout.

Sitting at her desk, the first thing Sharon did, was to open the top drawer. Without hesitation, she grabbed the letter and slammed the drawer closed.

It stuck, refusing to close. A further push did nothing.

Muttering a curse under her breath, Sharon pulled the drawer open to check what was the matter. Unsurprisingly, it was one stupid red box lodged sideways stopping the free movement.

That damn box had been in the way for six months now.

Pulling it out and placing it (forcefully) on the desk, next to the damn letter, she eyed them both with contempt. What was it with her and men who couldn't take a no? One insisted on pretty, but meaningless, words. The other, well, probably, on pretty and unnecessarily expensive things. Meaningless!

Oh, the first one might have meant the words at some point. Trouble was, he was fickle. Not really great on follow-through. Words were all she would get and if she accepted that, then...

Without looking, Sharon reached for the letter and tore it in shreds. Trying not to think of the temptation it contained, she threw the pieces into the bin.

The second one, well, he framed it as a 'thank you'. Probably thought 'it's the thought that counts'. What that thought was, and why action didn't matter, she had no idea. She didn't know and wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Eyeing the box, she knew she should come to some sort of a decision over it. Either open it, or throw it away. Returning it this late into the game was laughable. Too much time had passed for it to read as anything but indecisive and childish.

But she was feeling indecisive and childish. Why couldn't anything go as planned!

Damn it, the whole thing!

Realizing that in her huff she had reached for the box's lid and flung it against cabinet with a very satisfying 'clonk' quelled her flare-up somewhat.

Was that a decision? Well, removing the lid was essentially opening the present. Granted it was made in the throes of emotion, but it was made. No harm in looking.

With dread, Sharon wheeled her chair as close to the desk as she could, only then peeking inside.

Inside a black frame, she was met with an image of her and the kids during their Raydormas breakfast. Emily's phone cam, with delay. Sharon had snapped at her to lay it aside at least while they ate. She hadn't been at all repentant at her mother's chas— Ah, there was that picture now. She watched the slow slideshow of the images for few minutes. Raydormas in its full glory, play-by-play. A few moments she hadn't seen, like the one where Ricky had Rusty under his arm, running knuckles on the crown of the teen's head. She hummed. Why couldn't that exist outside Raydormas, just that simply?

And when had she started to call their delayed Christmas celebrations as 'Raydormas'? She was spending too much time with Andy.

Then it hit her. She hadn't seen all of Raydormas because she was happily spending time with him. She, the lover of all Christmas who refused to so much as poke her nose out of the house while there were Christmas lights, presents, good food and a tree in the house, had walked out, met with him, spend time with him and not minded one bit. Not only on Raydormas, but on Christmas proper.

If that wasn't telling of anything, well, then, nothing to say.

The images paused with one of the kids sitting side-by-side in Rusty's room, the universal play button embossed in the middle of it. Without touching it, she knew it was the thank you message they sent to Andy. For the amazing presents he bought her kids. She sighed. The only reason for it to be included was him watching her watch it.

The loop started again and Sharon's eyes drifted aside. She saw a note lodged between the frame and the box.

Opening it, she scoffed at the first line.

'If you are reading this, congratulations for giving in. See, not so bad?'

No, not too bad. Reading the humorous note, she found it fairly accurate. He had written answers for questions he thought she might have. Number one was battery life. Apparently good since he suspected her to be stubborn, and yes, motion sensor. That was correct, numbers two ('bribed a security guard') and three ('a little more than a hundred, less than two') she would have reversed. Four ('a thank you') and five ('because I'm stubborn') were good.

The 'P.S.' told her there were more photos and to check the manual for activating the folders. If she hadn't been utterly dumbstruck, she would have cried at the sweetness of it.

"And before you dish out the death penalty," she heard from the doorway, "I had accomplishes. I'm willing to name names for a good deal."

Her eyes snapped up from the note and came to rest on Andy leaning on the jamb of her door. Words escaped her.

"Deal?" she repeated.

"Good." He nodded and thought for a few seconds before making the suggestion, "Let's say, opera tickets."

"Opera?"

"Ma certo, Signorina."

The change of language spurred her to a veritable chatterbox.

"You speak Italian?"

"Why don't you find out. Saturday."

She watched him retreat to his desk and turn to look at her through the blinds. After a minute, she nodded and he went to start the day's work.


	32. Hindsight, 3 of 3

**A/N:** A_ response to the Guest's list of suggestions. Or I guess it should be 'The Guest' already? (Thankyouthankyouthankyou!)_  
><em>Annie, thanks &amp; welcome! Aiming to please! Took me what, whole of three minutes? Probably not as quick next time...<em>

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><p><strong>Hindsight, part 3 of 3<strong>

"Hi Mom!"

"Emily Raydor, you are grounded."

Not being one for unnecessary pleasantries, Sharon jumped ahead of the idle small talk. There was a point for her call and that point would not wait.

Her daughter, on the other hand, needed to wait for her brain to catch up.

"What? Hold on, I haven't done anything. Besides which, I know you like to think you are all-powerful, but across the continent your reign extends not."

"You know perfectly well what you have done. And don't talk to you mother in... iambic tentameter or whatever silly thing that was. You are not cute."

"I am cute and I don't know what I've done."

Emily had long since found out that being cute was particularly effective when needing to buy time, but this time, her voice sounded less certain than usually. It made her mother hesitate.

"Your brother didn't clue you in?"

"The freakazoid? We've done something? Or do you mean Rusty? Is he already 'my brother'?"

"He is not. He was, is, seriously considering not being that because of your brother's behavior which you have done nothing to counterbalance. Come to think of it, there's another reason for you to be grounded. Emily Raydor, you are doubly grounded."

"Geez Mom, thank you for the call. Okay, I'm grounded, message received. Would like to know the basis for my first conviction, though."

"Andy."

"Who? Him? What?"

"Don't act coy. He dropped you in it."

"Mother dearest, are you sure you are feeling fine? I'm more lost than I was, if possible."

Sharon sighed. The clueless act was seriously impeding with the flow of her laying down the law.

"Andy's Christmas present. He had accomplishes, he named names. The one deal is gone so own up."

"His... Christmas present? This year's or last? It's August."

"Last." It was August, but that was no reason to ask unnec— "Hold on. 'This' or 'last'? He is already doing something for me?"

"Well from the way you are acting, I'm saying he's not doing it enough."

"Emily —"

"— Raydor. Yes, I know. However, I don't know why you would wait seven months to open a Christmas present."

Yeah, a good question that. How do you tell your daughter you didn't know because of a list of reasons worthy of their own tome.

"Mom?"

The throat clearing, Sharon hoped, Emily took as a polite clue for not being left hanging.

"So, are you getting a new part or what was that... literary exercise earlier?"

"So," her daughter responded with an unappealingly good imitation of her own, "are you getting into new pants or what was that crafty changing of subjects just now? I have received the glad tidings of you not having a man in your life any more, you know... m'lady," she added on spite.

"Andy is a friend. We agreed on no presents and he broke that."

"So why open it now?"

"It was in the way."

Muffled, Sharon heard from the other end, "Sorry, my mom. Boyfriend troubles."

To that, she seriously needed to object.

"He is not, my boyfriend."

Now the palm used to muffle the earlier comment was clearly left out. "Sorry, Katy, she tells me it's her gentleman friend troubles."

"Emily!"

"What else is this? He's 'a friend' who is nice to your kids, who takes you out constantly, who your son sees you having secret rendez-vous with — yeah, the freakazoid texted me — still you won't open his nice Christmas present for seven months, and when you do, it's because 'it was in the way' and instead of thanking him and being nice about it, you call your defenseless baby to yell at her. Nothing spells 'boyfriend troubles' like irrational behavior and deflection."

"He is not my boyfriend."

She had debated on correcting her daughter's grammar instead, but that might have sounded like an admission. Denial was always the better option. Even if it came a little defleatedly as she was busy going through every moment of Ricky's visit in search of a 'rendez-vous' between her and Andy.

"Well, correction to the last. Denial is a very good clue as well." Sharon didn't need to be much of a clairvoyant to know her daughter rolled her eyes for Katy's benefit. "My advice: put the man out of his misery. He's patiently waited for his Christmas present for seven months, it's high time you give it to him. Guys won't hang around forever waiting you give them even a lick of a bone."

'Lick of a bone'?

"Mom?"

"We are just friends."

"Don't tell me he already found someone else?"

"He is a friend, I have no clue, nor any rights to have one, about his personal life. But, as a separate issue, if I was to... date, you wouldn't think —"

"I wouldn't think 'yes, thank God', 'finally', 'please find her a good guy for once'? No, can't promise that."

"Emily, honestly."

"Honestly? Date. Even tonight still."

Sharon wasn't sure what made her ask, but it was done now. Neither was she sure what to think about the answer she got, but it was out there now.

"And," Emily said more subdued, "I don't believe you've never had anyone since Dad."

Sharon took a deep breath, gearing to say something. This conversation wasn't going as planned. Well, what was one more thing in the long list of things not going to plan.

"You don't need to comment, I'm just saying. I think that, I don't know or care to, and if I did, for sure, I would think 'good for you'. So," her tone returned to its usual perkiness when she continued, "go get your boy, give him a nice little apology and not so little naughty Christmas present."

"Emily!"

"We are all adults here. Katy says you should jump him too."

"Thank you."

Yeah, there was a plan. 'Jump the man'. Well, she hadn't been visiting anyone in hospital recently. Cardiac ICU could be interesting.

Kids, she shook her head. Or was it 'modern women'? One more thing she should find out about being 'newly single'. She was so not ready for any man.

"So, what was the deal I missed?"

"Uh?"

"You said for the crime I aided and abetted in, there was a deal and Andy took it. I got grounded, what did he get?"

"Opera. Uh, well — Nothing."

"You just realized he got a carrot instead of a stick, didn't you?" Again her voice had that remote quality as she exclaimed, "She can't even punish him right!"

"I love your commentary over this," Sharon drily remarked after the few rattles told her Emily was again connected to the conversation.

"I can always put you on speaker."

"No! Thank you."

"So, let me guess, for upsetting you by giving you a wonderful present, as recompense he gets to take you on an expensive night out?"

Sharon hummed. That was, essentially, how it went. Essentially.

And the man spoke Italian.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that? What about Italy?"

"Uh. Nothing." If Sharon herself was good at silent waiting and Andy was great at it, a compliment of the sort for Emily wouldn't be misdirected either. "Alright," she sighed after some seconds of silence, "I was just thinking, he speaks Italian. Or doesn't. Told me to find out."

"Oh, to be there when he makes you work for it!"

"I could always check his file."

"And how will that go? 'Professional standards?' 'No, no, I just requested his file to check if my boyfriend could romance me in more than one language.'"

"That there is exactly the reason why we will never be more than friends."

"And yet, you oh so want it."

Gracing her daughter with not affirmation nor denial, the conversation flowed to more usual grounds. Emily's evening plans, when she was coming home, when she was calling next, how her roles were going.

After hanging up, Sharon's mind went back to the part about Andy. Especially to the end of it.

Did she want it? No. It was the divorce speaking. Andy was a 'great guy', no two questions about it, but he was a great guy who was an amazing friend and that's how it should go.

Also, divorce. Newly single. Confusion. Modern women, professional standards and a plethora of other outside reasons she should keep in mind.

Their fake relationship.

And kids.

Too much too soon, in any case. There was time to think about all of it.

Though, fortified with managing the conversation with Emily, she could always test the waters, purely to satisfy scientific curiosity. Ricky she wouldn't bother with (his oh so worried opinion of her ever-so-lonely heart was quite clear), but to balance her daughter's fanciful ideas she could ask for a sensible opinion on things.

She walked across the hall from her bedroom to Rusty's door which she found ajar. Knocking on it gently, she had time to rethink the foolish idea. Her only choice was to push the door slightly wider to peek inside or she would back off for good.

"Rusty? Can I ask you something?"

"Uhm, yeah?"

Sharon approached but the boy barely glanced up from his laptop screen.

"Is this a bad time?"

"No." He placed a hand on the lid, tapped a few keys and shut it before focusing on her. "Go ahead."

"I called Emily and — Well, one thing let to another, and —"

"She doesn't like me either."

The level, factual, way in which Rusty said it made Sharon stop her topic and drop to sit on the corner of his bed.

"No, why would you say that?"

He shrugged.

"They don't."

She couldn't help but look at him, sadly. Not much of a welcome to the family. He seemed not to care and forged on.

"So you're asking if you can take it back."

"Take w— No, absolutely not. No. If my kids choose to be insensitive and completely thoughtless and to go against all of the principles I have tried to instill in them, then they can seethe in their respective places."

"Sharon, I don't want to break you guys up."

"You won't," she offered with an encouraging smile, "They will love you, they just need to get to know you. To understand us." Rolling her eyes, she leaned closer in conspiracy, "They are older than you but not always smarter."

Rusty laughed and raised an eyebrow.

"Should I tell them you said that?"

"Go ahead. They are both grounded. And so are you, mister," she added with an affected scowl, standing up to give him the full intimidation.

His face blanched.

"Me? What did I do? I can't go play chess? Look, I'm sorry if it was like —"

"Doesn't matter. That's an honorary punishment in our household. Know that I am extremely unhappy with you but you should work on doing better while being extra careful about not pissing me off any more. Hall passes not revoked. Probation, if you like." With a chuckle she shook her head. Didn't make much sense if you didn't know the backstory. Emily had been a smart-ass and refused to go with his babysitters if she was supposed to be grounded. Apparently going around town was not how things worked for her friends and it was a terrible injustice to not get grounded like they did. With their life staying at home was a total impossibility, so the word remained, the content did not. "I'll explain it to you later."

"Okay." Rusty's grin was wide. Even if the thing sounded stupid, it was his first time ever being grounded. Grounded at eighteen! He loved the Raydor family traditions. "So, what did I do?"

"Andy, Christmas presents, ring a bell?"

Again his face blanched.

"He begged us! I told him you'll only get mad but he wouldn't listen! I only let them use my laptop but that's it. I swear."

"Good boy."

"But, uhm, why are we grounded now? It was like a year ago."

"I only opened it now. Don't ask why."

"So, what did you want to ask?"

"Do you — Would you — Would you mind if I went out?"

"Uh, no? Go ahead. I can make a sandwich."

"I mean, with someone."

"No?" It took him a while to connect the dots. "Do you mean like a date?"

"Well, possibly. Yeah. Maybe."

"Someone asks you go out tonight now, at six thirty in the evening?"

"No, no, not tonight. In general."

"Yeah."

"So, you wouldn't mind?"

"Didn't I just say that, Sharon? Sure, go and date."

"It wouldn't be too... uncomfortable for you?"

"Uh, no. Like if you brought someone over or — But I have my room, right?"

"No, no, nothing like that. Just dates. Going out, doing something. No... overnights."

"Okay."

"Good." She nodded, straightened her spine, started to turn around but returned to nod again.

"Sharon?" Rusty asked as her hand grabbed the handle.

"Yes?"

"How is this different from what you're already doing with Flynn?"


	33. Domesticated Fowl

**A/N:** _This is for the Guest who wanted 'the talk' and 'Saturday'._

* * *

><p><strong>Domestic Fowl<strong>

"Another?"

Sharon nodded, if for no other reason than to keep the dinner going. The longer the pretext of coffee and desert, the longer she could push off — everything. In the silent hours in her bed, she had thought that maybe she should talk about something else than what he had wanted her to. Increasingly the idea of talking about her being upset at work earlier this week was starting to feel like a pretext for talking about something else.

It was not like she craved to spend her Friday night on his couch, talking about her ailing marriage, her abysmal family life or idiotic ex-husband to be (yeah, Jack deserved to make the list twice — or thrice, as the case looked to be).

She would rather spend the said night, on said couch, talking about her flailing heart, her dismal social life or her idiotic ex-husband hopefully very soon to be.

With all the luck, she could say she was entertaining silly ideas, they would talk about it, he would understand not to overwhelm her anymore and she would snap out of it.

Yeah, that sounded like a good idea.

Andy returned the nod but after a few strides, he stopped, stared at her. The stare was uncomfortable and she nervously pursed her lips in a smile she tried to hide when his glazed eyes turned to focus.

"Are you cold?"

"Cold?" The question was totally unexpected. "No, why?"

He gestured at her legs. She followed the palm pointing at her lower body. Her legs were curled beside her, the feet pushed in the crack between the two cushions of his couch. Not really the mark of a sophisticated houseguest.

"Oh. Habit," she admitted sheepishly and started unfolding them, "Sorry."

"No, no, go ahead. Just wanted to check."

Making the same flapping motion with his flattened palm as he had used to ask her to go 'demi-pointe', he asked her to take the airborne legs back up. As they stopped to hesitate, the flash of a smile he left her with was definitely not making her cold.

It was the divorce, it had to be. That and her impertinent children mercilessly teasing her. Emily's good-natured poking she could take, but when Rusty had asked for definitions she did not have to spare even for herself, she had been thrown. The 'uhm — well — it's — well' start of her answer hadn't left her with much self-confidence nor dignity.

However, in essence, there was a big difference. With Flynn — Andy — she was always on guard, always doing simple things, always standing a step back. But more importantly, they were friends — stuck in that weird place of shallow deep. And she had been honest when she had joked about not wanting to attract him. If she would date someone, she would like to think she would go to some sort of a trouble. To play herself up. To coquet a bit.

Too late for that between them. He already knew she wasn't that great.

And there was always a timeline to them. With someone she dated, she would not plan things to clock; she would think forward in uncertain terms (forever and future, some and next time springing to mind).

They were too easy. Not that she expected, needed or wanted dating be hard, but somewhat... uncertain and thrilling. Exciting and electric.

Plus there was two big points she would need from any potential date: agreement and initiative.

Old-fashioned, maybe, but certain.

And she had to take into consideration the amount their 'fake' relationship was having on her perception. Or his. There was so much history and talk between them that any sort of an effort to transfer their relationship to another level might be disastrous if not completely impossible. Their careers might never survive anything else than a lukewarm friendship. Before anything, they both should know, understand and accept that.

So, friendship was the easy, the sensible choice.

Plus, the amount of bitching she had been doing about her ex to him had pushed them so far in the 'friends' territory it was not even funny.

"What are you laughing about?"

"Nothing." She reached to take the steaming cup offered to her. "And I am not laughing."

"Okay. Smiling, —" he sat on the recliner opposite her and leant closer to study her look, "— radiantly."

For a few beats, Sharon got the foolish urge to drop the idea of hinting to a certain conversation she thought she was wanting to have and just — . Oh boy, did she want to have that discussion, her mind supplied to suppress her stupid heart while she looked into the warm darkness of his eyes.

Well, what was the harm in saying she thought about silly things, if... If he could admit to thinking the same?

"The other day," she said into her cup of too hot drink, "in the corridor. I think — I think you were flirting with me."

His laugh was offensively vivacious and he laid a hand on her wrist.

"Sharon, of course I was flirting with you."

Well, good? One thing she had (almost) decided, and that was that he could flirt with her if he liked, as long as it was done a hundred yards from the PD. After all, she needed the practice. Maybe even the feedback. And when they both knew the joke, it would be easier, right?

However, not at work. Never again. A warning tale of 'or else' should get the message across.

"Jack always wanted to flirt with me in court. He —"

Biting his jaw, Andy shook his head slowly.

"Say what you want to say, the Jack deflection is starting to lose appeal."

"We can't let it happen a—"

"It will," he said without letting her finish.

She tried again, "A—"

"I know, I know. It shouldn't, but it will. And it's totally my fault. You know I can't help it. But remember I've always been like that. Always and with everyone. If I stopped with you, that would be inappropriate."

'Everyone'? Sharon thought. Yeah, he was a flirt. So, nothing special. A friendly thing, at best. Relief. (Maybe.)

Andy quirked a brow at her silence and tilted head.

"Have you been to a seminar, ever?" Sharon's brows scrunched. "Discrimination," he laid out as if giving a lecture, "be it positive or negative, is the source of discontent. Exclusion does not hurt only the excluded but the whole circle as well."

A person less insecure could take that as 'I had to force myself to do it with you because I'd like to do it with someone else'. Sharon chuckled at the thought — her skills at reading snide remarks between the lines was definitely well-tuned.

"Well," she hid the private joke into a public one, "I don't know if I should be happy you've listened or worried you use the information to back up your inappropriate behavior."

"If you want to talk about inappropriate," Andy threw back levelly, "how about your behavior? Or have you forgotten both of us realized something was off by a thing you said?"

"No," she had to admit, "I was out of line. I apologize."

"Don't." The comforting hand on hers was back again, briefly. "I meant it when I said you can call me anything you like, anytime you like."

"Can," she said losing a beat taking in the smell of the soap his bathroom had been infused with, "but shouldn't."

"Okay, maybe you are right. Gotta hand it to you though, you were really upset if you didn't know what you were saying."

"Oh," Sharon sighed, willing to give up with her crafty hint to 'please flirt with me, but not while working'. The conversation had moved on, she had missed her window and now Andy wanted to hear the actual talking part. "I was in a mood alright. You should all be glad I didn't sent you liaise with Hollywood. Hollywood Traffic."

"Yeah," he said his eyebrows dancing and she didn't mind at all, "rather liaised with you."

"Jack —"

"Sharon," said again with a hand on hers, "Jack's not an issue anymore."

"He is." He was; the divorce wasn't finalized and everything, but it was not what she had been meaning to say. "This is the start of the real issue why I'm here talking with you. Why I was upset. Do you want to hear or not?"

"By all means."

She sighed and rested her head back on the sofa's back. Unloading your insides to your friend, that she liked. Andy was a great listener, something she had never suspected before watching him work up close. And her favorite thing was that no matter what painful and dirty details she told him, he never asked for more nor did he ever bring it up again.

Staring at his living-room ceiling, she searched for the best place to start.

The topmost issue seemed like a good one.

"Jack always gets to Ricky. He's been telling Ricky bad things about Rusty. Well, playing up his doubts. Insecurities. They are so much alike and they both hate it like nothing else."

She went on to describe some past examples; some things that irked her about Ricky's visit, about her own behavior; some traits of Jack's she really hated. Patiently, he listened, without interruptions. 'Yeah' might have been the longest word he let escape.

At the end of it all, she voiced a wish to do something, anything, differently.

"Am I a bad mother for wanting to keep him away from his father? For wanting to tell them to put their backs together and start walking?"

"No." Sharon hummed her relief in that stretched-out way that told him she appreciated the sentiment but thought he was full of crap. "But it makes you a bad wife." She rolled her head to look at him with surprise. "Great ex-wife. Totally on par."

"Thank you for taking me seriously."

He leaned even closer, if possible.

"Sharon, do you really expect me to have some cosmic insight into your l— well, anything? No, you do not. We both know you only need and want someone who will listen you talk about this."

Feebly, unnecessarily, she nodded.

Andy got to his feet, meaning to get another refill. By raising his cup, he silently asked if she still wanted one. Her answer was just as silent — a single shake of her head.

He nodded, added, "My job is to keep my ears open and make you laugh. Failing the latter, to keep you off-balance so you won't get all depressed. I, personally, think I'm doing an awesome job."

Her smile was wide, showing her teeth as she looked up at him.

"Thank you."

"For?"

"For being my friend. I couldn't manage without your help."

"I help you?"

"Very much."

"How exactly?" Andy knew his joke sounded like the lie it was when he added, "Not that I don't know, I just like hearing good things about myself. Good for my ailing ego."

Her fading smile was the first tell of her intentions to answer him honestly.

"The way you listen," she started listing unrehearsed and with bare minimum of thought, "Make me laugh. That you are here for me. That I don't have to fit you in all of this mess, that you, this, makes sense. I like you taking me out, to be with your family, to think about something else for a while. I like that you are crazy enough to amuse me with this whole girlfriend thing. That you are willing to support me with this Jack business. Thank you for being the friend I need."

Andy could only stare at her. For ten seconds, for twenty.

"Nope," he finally said.

"'Nope'?"

"I thought I was starting to understand women, but no." He came back to take his seat. "If I understand correctly, you are thanking me for the things over which I should apologize to you."

The chuckle was nervous.

"I don't understand."

"The girlfriend thing," Andy took as an example, "I blindsided you into it. Forced you to pretend. And you thank me for it."

"I told you my sense of humor is twisted," she said with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. "I've enjoyed the whole thing. It's become my favorite social experiment. I can't believe it worked! That they still buy it."

"Why not?"

"Oh, come on, think! We are friends who act like friends, who never do anything intimate, never flirt, who keep telling everyone they are friends to the tune of you telling everyone I turned you down."

"You said it was a romantic story."

"Yeah, maybe for a month," she scoffed with another eye roll. "But a man who asks a woman out, gets turned down explicitly, with no promise of a future, does not keep 'dating' that woman. Sure, he can say he'll wait, but not for a year when there's other, warmer, fish in the sea."

He didn't have any words to say, so only stared at her.

"In fact," Sharon continued good-humoredly, "I'm surprised you have wanted to spend so much time with me. What have your girlfriends thought!"

Subtle, as an unicorn-drawn hay cart through downtown L.A. Well, she had always been a fan of questions in the form of 'what — your girlfriend'. Why change a working approach?

"Nothing much," he said easily, "I've had no other relationships than ours."

"You should have a relationship with all the good bits." Like spending real time together, doing daily chores, making plans, silently helping each other out, sitting down for meals, just being... Maybe her silly toughts were due to some romantic nostalgia?

"I happen to think our fake relationship is just fine."

"Really? You have a peculiar view of relationships if that's true. Or I remember the nice things very wrong."

"Maybe," he shrugged lopsidedly, "But we do have all the best parts."

"Now, you see that there," she said pointing at his easy manner, "That I've never gotten. The way men lie with straight faces. I think that is why I fell for Jack every time."

"Sharon, I'm not lying."

The spark of laughter ignited in her eyes.

"Okay, now I know your view on relationships is strange!"

"If you are trying to allude to our relationship not being good because I don't get laid, I'm inclined to call your view on relationships strange!" he bit out and stalked to the kitchen.

If there had been a door, Sharon was sure she would have been graced with a slam loud enough to make her ears ring. The explosion had been totally out of the blue. One minute he was flirting and bantering with her, the next moment he barked her into submission.

Not knowing what to do, she silently sat in her place and waited.

She didn't last too many minutes before she quickly took to her feet and padded after him. Having left her shoes behind, her quiet approach behind him made Andy start, but not turn around.

Sharon leaned against the work bench and watched the muscles of his back move in jerky patterns.

"You're mad at me," she stated after noticing he was washing all of the dishes by hand while having the dishwasher already open and a quarter full.

"Maybe I am, Sharon."

"Why?"

He turned around, not bothering to wash nor dry his hands. She watched the soap suds sliding down his arms.

"It's like you said. Our relationship is not a fake. Not to me, at least. Or have things changed for you?"

"No! Of course our friendship is true. I meant what we have as a couple. Would have. Appear to have." She sighed, feeling like she didn't know what she meant herself. "I mean, as opposed to what real relationships are."

"And what's the grave difference, huh, what?"

She tried to determine which one he meant — the difference between relationships of different types or the difference between what they had in appearance and what you would have in a real relationship.

Non-committedly, she started, "It —"

"You can't answer, can you?"

"No. I can't," she snapped, getting irritated with not being allowed to finish a thought, "But there is a difference between what we have as casual friends pretending to be more and what you have if you have a real relationship."

"Alright, maybe there is."

The tone of his voice told her he was only humoring her to make her see she was wrong. Not daring to go as low as to say they lacked the spark working to a clock and not having the words to explain anything without making him explode, she kept quiet.

Andy squinted at her. It was a menacing look lasting only fractions of a second before he turned back to his dishes. She let him work it.

Only when his movements were starting to round, Sharon opened her mouth.

"So, what time tomorrow? Opera?"

"Opera's one of the good bits that doesn't belong in our casual friendship, don't you think?" he said over his shoulder.

Her mind screamed, 'Damn it, I want it!' but her lips said, "Oh. Alright."

Retreating to the living-room to put on her shoes, she collected the rest of their dishes into a neat pile along the way. On her way back to the kitchen, she carried the pile all the way to the sink. Silently, without her asking or having to wait, he stepped aside giving her room to lay her bearings down.

When the last of the dishes submerged, Andy stepped closer expecting her to move away. Instead, she stood her ground, looked up at him from his jaw to his lips to his eyes and briefly thought what kind of credentials her daughter's friend had on the relationship advice department.

"I meant what I said," Sharon said locking her hands in her pockets, "Thank you for being my friend. If something happens, remember that I value our friendship."

"Is something supposed to happen, Sharon?"

"No," she said immediately, mentally adding the 'definitely not supposed', "but if something does."

She let her gaze drop, fleetingly entertaining the merits of 'just getting it out of your system'. A squeeze on his arm was her goodbye before she hurried through the house and into the cooling night. The hit of outside air sobered her mind to provide her with an uncomfortably adapted old joke.

'Why did the chicken cross a living-room in near sprint?'

'Because it chickened out.'


	34. Pushed, 1 of 3

**Shammers, part 1 of 3**

For months, Andy had tried being firmly in the friend zone with her and he had succeeded. Now, in the midst of another family dinner — a regular occurrence these days — even if he had been accepted to family events without her hand-holding as well, to his dismay, he found those other times, those times when he was alone, were not as pleasurable. Oh, they were fine enough, easy enough. But something, he felt, was missing.

Sharon seemed content with their new relationship. Perhaps she had been lulled into believing whatever had inspired him to challenge their relationship had passed. It was no lie; the urgency with which Andy had attacked the line had dulled into a standard pushing. Silently, he had even made a rule for himself about touching her. He never did it, if she didn't do it first. Not at work, not off-duty.

If she had noticed, she hadn't commented.

If his family had noticed, they hadn't commented.

However, he had noticed she did touch him plenty, but he didn't comment. Usually he was free to touch her by the time they reached his car at her condo's visitor parking.

Tonight had not been the winning success their outings had a habit of being despite of everything. Sharon was more subdued than usual, quiet and pensive like she rarely was in company. The way she escaped after the preliminary chats with everyone while waiting for the food to cook told of that. Sure, she had been nice, polite, engaged and she had even laughed, but the moment the boys ran upstairs to wait with a game and Nicole and her husband retreated to set the table and finish preparing the food, she slunk off.

It took Andy some time to realize she hadn't just popped to the bathroom and walk after her out to the patio.

He debated whether he should come out and ask her straight-on what was the matter or whether he should try getting her to say it on her own accord. Or maybe he should just try to uplift her spirits, no questions asked.

"How did you know to ask if the boys helping out at en pointe classes meant lifts?" she asked with some false amusement in her tone after a minute.

Andy lounged against the wall and waited for her to turn around so he could took her temperature, and if it looked fine, feign ignorance. She did, tilted her head in question.

She looked like she was in need of a good laugh. So, when no reply arrived, she did the little tippytoe steps she always did. Andy smirked.

"Lucky guess."

The smirk might have been too strong, for she guessed, "You tricked me."

"Can you blame me?" he shrugged with glee, and wanting to make her laugh, told her playfully, "I love seeing you give me context clues." Walking upto her, still wanting the laugh, he came straight to her personal space and whispered, "Your demi-pointe work is great."

Instantly her head shot back.

"My — How do you —"

He did the innocent boy shrug that clearly told everyone he was guilty as sin.

It garnered no laughs. Instead, she bunched her arms and turned unattractively Captain Raydor.

"You obviously knew all along. You tricked me."

"Come on, this — as opposed to everything you seem to think as funny — is funny." He placed a hand around her waist. "Can't believe you honestly had no clue I was faking it all these months."

His chuckles pushed her even further, and she stepped back letting his hand fall off.

"This is not funny. This is me being lied to. Again."

"Sharon, it's not a big deal. Yeah, I knew what 'en pointe' meant but wanted to see you explain it to me. Repeatedly. A joke."

"You played me. But oh no, it's fine, this is all based on a lie anyway!" She threw her hands up and made a few step sized round before coming back to face him with a pointed look and lips pursed into a narrow line. "I do not like to be taken for a ride, Andy."

"Sh—"

His response was cut off by the sound of the door opening. Immediate his nerves were grated by his ex's haughty voice.

"Our daughter wonders where you've got to." She took in the scene; Sharon standing there with stormy look, Andy frozen still, neither looking anywhere but at the other, however not really seeing each other. "Would you like me to tell her you'll be crawling under a rock in a minute after this relationship implodes as well?" she asked spitefully.

Andy scoffed.

"We'll be back in in a minute. After we finish the private conversation."

"Very well." She took a few breaths more to assess. "So, what did the bastard do this time?" she directed at Sharon, "Twenty, no probably thirty these days, and blonde? Kind of his MO."

"Nothing like that. Thank you for the concern, I can handle him."

"Well, he never was the sharpest tool. Just know whatever it was, he will do it again."

"Thank you for the advice, I don't need back-up."

Andy caught the smile directed at his ex-wife. It was a familiar smile, a very dangerous smile for all concerned.

"She really doesn't."

The simple statement was a warning to both women: a warning to back off while still possible to one, a warning to think before doing something she would later regret for the other.

The blazing eyes in front of him and the definite lack of the sound of a door being used told about the futility of the attempt.

"Look, I'm really only trying to help you out," his ex still tried, "Women need to stick together, especially —"

"Thank you!" Sharon snapped and a took a menacing step forward, "This is none of —"

Andy grabbed Sharon by the waist and pulled her back.

"I would leave right now," he helped his ex-wife.

"Only trying to help."

Only when the door was firmly shut again, dared Andy to loosen his hold on the woman beside him. With the unnecessary gestures of shrugging him off, Sharon started pacing again.

"That woman is impossible!"

"Well, yeah," he muttered thinking 'that' woman wasn't the only impossible woman in near vicinity, "there are reasons why we are divorced."

"If she's always been like that I seriously question what you ever saw in her."

"It's called loving someone despite their faults." He didn't know — still doesn't — what made him add, "Maybe a foreign concept to you."

If he was looking for a way to freeze the situation before it escalated, in a way, he succeeded.

The wide eyes and the slack jaw, as well as the way she blinked in plain surprise, he would have achieved just as easily if he had gone and physically slapped her.

"Thank you, Andy," she breathed out slowly and stalked past him towards the door.

"I meant Jack."

It paused her at the door. She turned around to look at him for few seconds before slipping inside.

"No, seriously, thank you."

The smile she left with him in between those words made him cold to the core.


	35. Pushed, 2 of 3

**A/N:** _Thanks again to everyone reading & reviewing. :) Especially spaceladywithspacehair, wow, that's quite a compliment! Welcome and hope you enjoy your stay. :)__  
><em>

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><p><strong>Pushed, part 2 of 3<strong>

Standing alone in the backyard at Nicole's 'Back to School' party on Sunday — which, in essence, was just a family barbeque with some of the boys' friends and their families invited — Sharon couldn't help but to regret how the weekend had played out. On Friday, she had wanted to have a chat with Andy; not only the part he had suggested where she unloaded her family troubles on him but also the part her kids seemed hell-bent on pushing on her.

The 'dating' thing, specifically.

Emily's innuendos had struck a chord harder than she had liked and, when she tried to hint about her troubles on said issue to him, Andy's reaction had left her even more confused. His blow-up to her bringing up the sometimes invisible line they had in their relationship and the stupid ideas she had about wanting to cross it had made her question the welcomeness on his part when it came to moving forward.

He had said they were doing fine, that to him their relationship had everything it needed. And apparently the opera thing didn't belong there.

Well, maybe she should take the hint. A friend's ex was not prime currency, she had heard.

But why the explosion?

She was missing something. Had to be.

Glancing up the yard to where he stood talking with people she didn't know and very much believed he hadn't seen before in his life, Sharon noted how worn he looked. She had seen the look on him twice: before his daughter's wedding and after the brawl he had with his ex at family therapy.

His mood was terrible. Had been since the moment she'd laid her eyes on him. The 'nice dress' comment he had made picking her up had sounded more like a snark than the usual honest remark. And, usually, the opening remark included the word 'you'.

Obviously he was still mad at her. She wouldn't have needed it, but the definite clue was the snapped 'fine' to her question of how his Saturday was.

Sharon was tempted to have it out in the car, but suspected that a brawl on his daughter's driveway wasn't needed. Again. She trusted him to know how to behave, even if the passive-aggressive act was tiresome. (Briefly she laughed at his ability to be passive in connection to aggressive, or her ability in bringing it out in him.)

However, on the way home, they were going to have some big words. She should have trusted what they said about trying to get a man talk about the status of your relationship. That was what had started his lousy mood, as far as she gathered. (Briefly she wondered again if this was his way of turning her down, since to him this was 'just fine'.)

She should just plain out and ask it. A yes or no and then they both would know for sure.

Nodding at the idea, Sharon found out Nicole had approached her and inadvertently took the gesture as a greeting.

"Dad likes you," Nicole stated out of the blue.

"I like him."

Didn't they already have this conversation? The next line: 'I've never seen him like a woman'.

"My brother thinks it's crazy how much you two love each other. Says he's never seen Dad like that."

"I—"

Right. 'I've nev—' Hold on. Sharon had started to answer with her standard reply of 'I'm sorry', which happened to be the truth, but obviously she needed to pay a little more attention this time around. Her brother thinks? In love?

"We —" she started to correct, but was cut off immediately.

"Yeah yeah," Nicole said with a dismissive wave and a roll of her eyes, which, Sharon noted, were very much things her father would grace her with, "you're not in love."

"We are not. We are just friends. Good friends."

"And that's why you forget to speak and he's staring at you right now."

Sharon turned to look back towards the patio and sure enough, there was Andy, his eyes fixed on her. They connected gazes and he tilted his head, raised eyebrows. Sharon discreetly flapped one hand which made him straighten the tilt and nod minutely.

"See, I told you."

Sharon turned her focus back to Nicole.

"We don't forget to speak and he doesn't stare at me. We have a particular history, we understand each other. The need for our communication to be efficient is a matter of life and death." It all sounded grandiose, off-putting and utterly bogus. Maybe she should approach the issue with a translation instead. "He asked me if we need to leave and I told him there's no hurry. We are good enough friends to have good communication."

"Right. And that's why he stares at your legs right now with a look like —" she gestured towards her father, "— that."

Sharon twisted around again to find Andy's gaze directed towards them — her — glazed. Mentally drawing a straight line from his eyes to the end point, she assumed it indeed was at her legs or somewhere in the grass a few feet from her. The odd look she couldn't discern, so she shrugged it off.

"He's just deep in thought."

"He's a leg man."

"Nicole, you know we are not together."

"Doesn't mean he doesn't want that to change."

The suggestive quality in her voice made Sharon chortle.

"I am his boss."

"And that never ends in marriage?"

"I am the boss he hates," she corrected, "Sometimes, I admit, the feeling is very much mutual."

"Wrong tense." Not knowing which one Nicole meant and assuming it was not going to go down well (for her) to ask whichever the case was, Sharon only hummed. "And whatever your feelings are at work," Nicole added, undeterred, "I'm not sure they translate well off work. And as a third thing, love and hate..."

"Let me assure you, we are friends. Whatever else you might think is between us, is not. We were wrong to give you any impression other than what was strictly true. You know we are very sorry for that."

The look she got was questioning. From her own daughter that look was the epitome of 'seriously? You just said that? Do you even hear yourself?'. From Nicole, Sharon hoped, it could mean something completely different.

"Have you noticed how many times you've used the word 'we' in the past fifteen minutes? But you are right, there is absolutely nothing to anything I say."

"Nicole!" she couldn't help the laughing quality in her protestations, "I am tempted to ask your father over to have this conversation with you. Again."

"Please do," Nicole sing-songed and stepped away, starting to move where her husband beckoned, "it might be very enlightening." A few yards off, she twirled around to add with a wink, "For both of us."


	36. Pushed, 3 of 3

**A/N:** _Guest asking the 'can they' question, I'd like to say yes, but this is what I had written. ;D_

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><p><strong>Pushed, part 3 of 3<strong>

Barely had Nicole and her uncomfortable insinuations receded when Sharon's side was taken by Andy. He looked impassive, stern, almost dispassionate. It made her uncomfortable even before his first words.

"So, what did you two chat about?"

She ran her eyes down his arm to the hand resting on the small of her back. Jack always tried that. Making her forgive by forgetting the issue in his hands. She wasn't looking for another reprisal of the pattern. This needed the talk. She hid stepping aside into taking a sip of her drink.

"Just general small talk."

"General small talk about me. Yeah, I saw your synchronized looks."

Opting for playfully returning the accusation, Sharon told him, "Your daughter seems to think you stare at me. She's a romantic young woman," she laughed the whole thing off. Feebly, but did nonetheless. "Refused to believe me when I told her you were just deep in thought."

"But I do stare at you," Andy replied with seriousness. Taking a step closer to her side, he whispered in teasing, "I have to know where my backup is at all times. So says the manual, courtesy of one Captain Raydor."

Sharon couldn't help it, so she dropped her head and giggled. Looking up, she met Nicole's eyes. She flashed her eyebrows knowingly and pointed at her own hip. Sharon glanced down at hers and noted Andy's hand cupping it. This time she disguised the stepping away into a turn to face him.

"You have to talk with her. Again."

"Sharon, we've both told her we are friends." He wasn't going to spill that he had, inadvertently, told Nicole the whole truth the day before. Sharon had insisted on forgetting the lie, and, even if it had been weeks and weeks ago, the fact that he had come clean felt like a betrayal. "You used to be of the opinion that what people think doesn't matter."

"People no, your daughter yes. She's very persistent."

"Hey, at least she gets something from me."

The bitter tone made Sharon tilt her head and give him a studious glance.

Before she had the time to think, her lips started to softly go through the list she was thinking.

"She gets a lot more. You smile alike. Your eyes are of the same dark warmth. You both have the temper, but are very easy to diffuse. When she adopts the confrontational stance I'm not always sure if it's her or your shadow. And yes, you both are very stubborn. Neither of you listens to me."

His voice was almost just as soft as he laid a tender palm on her arm, "And we both like to surround ourselves with smart, caring people."

Chuckling to shrug him off unsuspected and to get a step away from him, she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah. Well, those crosswords do keep Provenza's brain active."

"You're determined not to hear any sort of a compliment from me, aren't you?"

"Please, Andy," she pleaded and retreated an inch more to get enough space to lay a palm flat between them, "there's no need for you to compliment me. We are friends. We both know where we stand."

"Hate to break it to you, but you don't."

No, in the grand scheme of things, she did not really, but now and here was not where they should clear the issue.

"A—"

Her protest was cut off by Andy lunging closer and slipping his right hand behind her back.

"Six inches more and you'd be in the pond," he said nodding forward over her shoulder.

Mouth open, searching for words that refused to come, she only stared up at him. When she started to sense uncomfortable tension, she turned to look at his tie and hummed.

Sharon made no move to leave, so Andy pulled his left hand to meet the one he already had behind her back. Looking down at her, he couldn't ignore how easy it would be just to k— No! Friends, you idiot, friends.

Instead he told her lowly, "I'm sorry for my crappy mood."

"Hadn't noticed."

"Yeah," he sarcastically conceded, "and that's why there were none of your concerned looks directed at me."

She hummed again and traced the edges of his tie.

"We need to talk about Friday."

"Do we have to, Sharon?"

"I'd like to think so." She turned to look at his lips. "I think there was some sort of a misunderstanding at play."

"Oh, I understood you just fine. Don't worry, I told her point-blank this was a lie as well as your opinion about us so you're free to go."

"You told her? So... this is it." Sharon had known he wanted to tell the whole truth, but that he had done it without any warning took her by depressing surprise. "Go where?"

"Wherever, Sharon!"

"Don't yell at me. I'm right where I want to be."

"See, I don't —"

"Stop," she ordered with a pat on his chest, "I don't understand your anger, but I don't want you tell me about that now. Not here."

His deep exhale ruffled her hair.

"Fine," he mumbled, "we'll have to fake that too. Reconciliation."

"Only until we make it."

Her eyes rose to meet his and the look she had on made him entirely certain she had every faith they would. Although he had no idea how they would manage it, simply based on that look he came to agree. Things would work out, he knew as his gaze flicked down over her lips, and maybe then the k— Oh, hell.

Andy pulled her closer, away from the pond, and not letting go of her waist directed her to settle against his side. Unawares checking her legs (she had on very nice shoes today, though wholly impractically so — come to think of it, why was she wearing a sexy dress like that for a family dinner in the first place?) under the faint idea of seeing if there was mud or... something, he muttered, "Who keeps kois anyway?"

"I guess your daughter does," she said quietly, still thinking about stepping away from him. Did it matter, really? After all, his hands seemed to find their way around her no matter what. And it kept him calm, without making him think everything was clear, done and dusted.

"She's always been attracted to things that are more trouble than worth."

"Like you?" Sharon asked turning her eyes up at him. From the corner of her eyes she caught Nicole looking at them appraisingly. She ignored the look, not wanting to focus on appearances or thoughts how much she had seen. The one person she needed to focus on was standing right beside her.

"No," he said squeezing her waist, "unfortunately, I'm more attracted to things I seem to stumble across when not thinking."


	37. Gag Rule

**A/N:** _Klara, sorry, corner + slump + new story + work going insane + being exhausted = ngh. Promise to wrap this up this coming week. (Well, not much of a promise before the last but one ch, right?)_  
><em>Jess, it was an obscure reference to how he is: act first, think later. Sometimes that gives nice rewards... The relationship he called without thinking, and Sharon as a girlfriend, no matter how fake, isn't too bad, right? However, the damn line refused to work out. I rewrote it like 17 times and then I was like 'gah, just f* it'. (Which is, in essence, the story with the last line of the whole story as well. I'm still rewriting it.)<em>

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><p><strong>Gag Rule<strong>

They were certainly experiencing no after party high. Andy had been quiet, Sharon had dared not to speak outside some mundane openers like 'good party' and 'I like their house'. Both had gotten a grunt each in response and on some level she was surprised he had bothered to come to walk her up.

"So, the truth has done us part."

She had been deep enough in thought to let it slip out loud, and she still was enough to be startled by his abrupt stop and turn that made her took a half-step closer to the wall of the corridor.

"What the hell are you talking about, Sharon?"

He had been just as deep in thought, she realized, since instantly she was needed to play catch-up with his mood. On a reflex, she laid a soft hand on his arm.

"I mean, there is no need to fake us anymore. You told Nicole."

"Yeah. I did. You made me so — so —"

"Angry, you can say it. Angry."

Her knowing the word split the edge of his anger even further, quelled his frustration.

"Yeah," he sighed, "I didn't think and I blurted it out."

"Okay."

They went to move forward in a slow stroll, as was their habit to have a legitimate reason for keeping a conversation flowing and the night from not ending. Never mind that they had recently adopted the habit of having one more coffee at hers.

Not the only habit Sharon thought about right then.

The habit of him saying things he didn't mean to might have irritated her in someone else, but knowing him, she accepted it as a fact. It was sometimes a really good thing, sometimes annoying, seldomly even entertaining. Very good for developing your self-restraint at least. Not to say that she didn't intermittently wish a thought could register before his mouth acted.

This was one of those times. It was not as if she hadn't been enjoying their outings and everything...

"So, that was that then," Sharon repeated quietly only to be grabbed to a halt by her arm.

"Don't you dare sound like that."

"I can't help but to sound like I sound."

"Isn't this what you wanted from me, being my friend? To stop lying to my family?"

Looking into his — troubled, supplied the poetic teenager inside of her while the adult woman searched for a word to fit the look — eyes, she could only hum her assent. Yes, his friend Sharon had pushed that from the start. His fake girlfriend Sharon had let the mantra slip a bit.

"I meant what I said," she said earnestly, "About appreciating all you've done for me. Enjoying the charade. Being with your family. I'm not ashamed to say I might feel the loss."

The... troubled (yeah, poetic teenagers had better vocabularies) eyes fixated up and on the emergency exit light further down back the corridor.

"I can't talk about this with you."

"What have I done? Weren't you —"

"No, Sharon!"

His vehement attack with words and a fast stride closer made her actually back against the wall. It was essentially a reflex to the surprise, especially more so than a reaction to an actual feeling of dread or fear. The immediate bunching of her arms, the squint and the widening of her stance demanded to be taken as a confirmation. Andy was still not budging down, the finger at her face didn't drop, nor did the sternness of his voice. If possible, it only got more emphatic.

"A no means no. Can't you understand a single word!"

"Like you do, you mean?" she countered, coldly.

"Oh, I can take a no, believe me I can."

"That must be a recent development then."

His stance moved to fully mirror hers. Both of them glared at the other, pointedly, stonily. Her quick flick of hair and the minute squint her eyes did made him breathe out and glance away first.

"Faking this was such a bad idea," he said calmer after the first breath.

"Couldn't agree more."

"Look, forget about this. We'll talk later. At some point. I'm too incensed to do it now."

"Really had no clue."

"Don't be a sarcastic bitch."

"Don't be a contrary asshole."

The glare returned, except for being weak enough to keep the quivering lips at bay. Simultaneously they chuckled. Yeah, that was like telling the Sun not to rise.

"I'm serious. Let me stew for a week, okay?"

"I don't think th—"

"Sharon, a week. I don't want to yell at you and if you say one word now I will, by God and all the saints, lesser ones too, I will." Her mouth opened, but he wouldn't let a sound to come out. "Let's be on friendly terms for six days, okay? We can manage that. Saturday, gloves off."

She didn't particularly want to fight, but if there was a chance for them to talk instead of just being insulting, stubborn and volatile, what was six days?

A very small, very foolishly hopeful, part of her made a mental highlight on her one question. That definitely needed an answer not spit out during a fight.

Sharon nodded, very hesitantly after remembering not to say a thing, but nevertheless nodded.

"Honestly, I'd like for us to talk, not to fight. You know my temper, though."

Understatement of the century (narrowly beating the 'our friendship is strange' comment she had made herself), warranting an award-worthy eye roll.

"And I need time to find out what to say, okay? So, next Saturday? Or sooner if there's a good time."

Sharon nodded again, with much hesitancy. How would she know is there was a good time sooner?

"Can't promise I won't yell at you then, but hopefully less."

Again her lips wanted to part for a comment, but she hid it well into a smile which she rounded out with another nod.

Andy tilted his head and scrunching his brows, waited out her anticipatory look. It didn't seem to end.

"You're really trying hard to not say anything, aren't you?" he hazarded with a smile.

The shrug she made was innocent.

His fingers went to play with the lapel of her coat.

"You're great, you know that, right?"

Another nod, this time affectedly serious. It got him chuckling.

"Yeah, course you do."

If he was in a better mood, he probably would have hugged her. Instead he concentrated on the dark navy fabric between his fingers.

The study was paused with the tilt of her head and the added gesture of her raising a finger in his line of sight. His eyes trailed to hers and even if he tried, he could not imagine a more firmer look signifying a question.

"You wanna ask a question? Fine, if it's nothing to do with this weekend."

"It might be a little bit," Sharon supplied immediately, and immediately, he exhaled all too loudly. "Don't sigh at me." The quirking of one brow told Andy he was being mocked. She gave him no opportunity for a counter. "Before Saturday, I mean next, can I speak at all?"

"Yeah. But nothing about anything we've talked about this weekend."

"So... Nothing about relationships, our families, our exes, our smiles, flirting, or kois?"

"Or your legs."

"Good point. Those hold a huge part in our day-to-day interactions normally."

"Yeah, maybe we should —"

Her dry wit almost made him transgress, for without a thought, he was going to say 'maybe we should make them have a little firmer hold in our interactions', but yeah, not a time for bad innuendos or the actual heart of the actual matter.

"Should what?"

"Tell you next week. Maybe."

"Okay."

For an instant he hesitated. She was certain he had something else to say when he stepped back and told her, "So long, Sharon, see you tomorrow. 'Night."

"Won't you come in? For a minute, cup of coffee."

"No, I don't think so." Hiding his emotions in a fake chuckle, he joked, "I will yell at you."

"Okay."

She didn't believe the joke for a second, especially when watching him walk away she noticed the way his right hand kept squeezing into a fist. Wondering if things were this hard, this juvenile for other people their age, or whether on some luck she had handled the whole thing as you should handle things with men (or this man in question at least), when, purely rhetorically she mumbled, "Where did we go this wrong?"

"For me?" he turned to ask albeit just as rhetorically, "New Year's. Easter at the latest."


	38. Bravery

**Bravery**

Their Saturday talk consisted of two sentences each.

At half past three, while waiting for the case (which disrespected the need for avoiding weekend hours) to finally wrap up, Sharon ambushed him getting a cup of coffee with her first line: 'do you mind if I come for barbeque tomorrow, Nicole asked?'. Andy was clearly surprised at her opening, but quickly realized it was not the opening, rather a necessary question for her weekend planning, so he answered with 'of course, if you want' and just as quickly added, 'the talk, tomorrow after?'. She nodded and smiled, faintly, answering, 'yes, let's have dessert and conversation somewhere'.

That was that.

So, on Sunday, it was a family dinner and a teasing anticipation for something that might turn out to be a fight or a talk. Sharon, while choosing an outfit and getting herself otherwise ready, thought about the remarkable insanity of it all. Not talking for a week after a weekend of absolutely large-letter misunderstanding and an enviable instance of cowardice was laughable.

And it made her giddy, she was not ashamed to admit.

While the feeling of wistfulness, like that of the last day of summer holidays, mixed with the excitement of first day at school, she somewhat dreaded the title of the thing coming. A 'talk' or a 'fight' sounded like too much. If she could get her way, the conversation would be 'Shut up. Answer one question, yes or no.' and then the question, which she hadn't wholly decided on yet.

And if it was a no, then whatever he wanted to say.

If it was a yes, well, then. She probably should let him say what was bothering him, right? Maybe later? Probably not.

A mess, a total mess.

In any case, the week had gone well enough, his mood had brightened and he had stopped with always tightening his jaw when she said something unrelated to a case. Thus her hopes for the whole day not turning out to be an unmitigated catastrophe.

From the start of things, it wasn't.

There was not a starting compliment for her, snarked or otherwise, but there was a smile. Unprompted, he even started a conversation. A conversation about the other conversation, which she needed to stop before he could get the fight ignited. She softly reminded him of 'later' and he only nodded. Hesitantly, but did.

For once, Sharon also remarked, they weren't the last ones to arrive. Almost the moment Andy had escorted her through the front door, she was swept away by the boys, who (she suspected) were laying in wait for the first person to walk in, wanting her to go feed the fish with them. They heard no protests or pleads to slow down, only dragged her to the kitchen to meet Nicole, get the food, a glass of water for her (it had been an unsuccessful pretext to slow them down to feign thirst), and then, with barely a word exchanged, dragged her through the house and outside.

The procedure itself was not very glorious or time-consuming. In the pace of the two minutes the boys spent on the task, Sharon was educated about all the important bits there was to koi. Apparently the water temperature told you how much and what to feed the fish and even then you had to adjust for what color fish you had. And the third pinch she tried to offer the school was apparently a mistake graver than not feeding them at all. Clearly Andy was right: a lot of trouble, worth she was hesitant to judge right now.

Deeming her to be sufficiently told off, the boys ran off and left her to it. She had to chuckle at their enthusiasm and short attention spans.

Well, as long as she was here, and no one else seemed to be in a grave need of her, she took a seat at the bench on front of pond, watching the fish actively swimming, twirling in colourful patterns.

She almost missed the clang of the patio door, but didn't look back to see who it was, coming or going. It was only a matter of some seconds before she recognized the footsteps crossing the yard. Truthfully she hadn't expected for anyone else to come after her.

"I like this look," he said behind her back.

She looked down her body, the top form-hugging cotton and jeans practically non-descript, boots at best classic black leather with some heel. The casual, almost sporty, jacket she had lost somewhere being dragged between the front door and her favourite place of the whole backyard.

"Very sweet on you."

The smile was evident in his voice before he came around the back of the bench and sat next to her.

"Better than the sexy number last week."

She glanced away, hiding behind her hair. What had possessed her? It had been a 'date' dress, something to wear out, not to a family gathering where barbeque sauce was a central component. Rusty had raised an eyebrow at the thing but made no comments. She wasn't ready to confess she had wanted someone to comment, even if that happened to be the reason for the four other outfits she had tried on first.

"Are you blushing?" Sharon heard from way too close to her ear.

"Yes. No. I don't blush."

"I know. Have tried enough without the results."

She turned to look at him, her mouth open. He was already moving forward at a speed, patting the tree of the seat as if checking whether it would hold.

"These the best seats in the house?"

"I like it here. The pond is wonderful." Sharon gestured at the koi pond a few yards from their feet, chuckled and stole a strawberry from the bowl he was holding. "I, too, am attracted to things that seem more trouble than worth."

Andy's questioning look was directed more at the strawberry she was biting into than anything, but it — or the silence it warranted — still prompted her to add, "Don't you remember what you told me here the last time? Your daughter?"

It faintly rang a bell, but at that time there had been a lot more interesting things for him to think about. With any luck, this was an opening and the conversation could be dealt with swiftly and effectively, letting them to move on to more pleasant topics...

"On that, let's talk about what you told me. The 'misunderstanding'."

"Don't," she shut him down instantly, "We agreed after tonight. One last fake couple's outing in peace."

Not bringing up that technically the talk and promise was about Saturday and it was already Sunday, or that technically the couple ruse had already ran its course (though people had cared surprisingly little; his ex-wife had only managed one spiteful phone call lasting less than two minutes), he only nodded.

"Okay, afterwards. I'll drink to that."

With a smirk he laid the strawberries down, sidled to take her glass and markedly sniffed at it.

"Andy, would you stop doing that? I know I was inconsiderate to you that one time, I'm sorry, I have learnt my lesson."

The strength of her rebuke left him dumbfounded. Okay, it was a bad joke, but...

"No, sorry," he said slowly, "you are fine. Another bad joke. If you want to drink, go ahead. You're a big girl, I trust you know your limits."

Nodding her agreement, Sharon laid out a palm and curled her fingers in a 'gimme' gesture. Instead of complying, Andy pulled the glass further up and away out of her reach.

"If I pour you something strong instead?"

"Once bitten, twice shy."

"Told you, just the wrong company. It's safe to drink now."

"Andy, you are not safe," she admonished and tried to catch her elusive glass. Her efforts only made it move away more. Balancing herself on a palm against his thigh, she tried again, only to find the item out of reach once more. Realizing the futility of her efforts, she scoffed, "Can I have my glass, please?"

Andy, for his own part, realized a great opening from her casual comment. From that, and from her position practically across his lap.

"About that, Sharon, I—" The relaxing of his hand let Sharon reach the object of her desire and with another, partly hidden scoff, pull back to her own place. His gaze followed her, then the glass from where it landed into his field of vision and as it tipped between her lips, he was almost shaken off from the thought he was trying to form. "I'd li—"

"Oh here you are!" They both turned to the direction of the sound and met the view of Nicole in her old white lace dress rounding the bench to sit next to her father. She opened her mouth to say something, but after looking both of them from head to toe, picked up a strawberry and changed gears with a sly smile. "Not enjoying the company or enjoying each other too much?"

"Nicole!" Sharon was quicker to hiss, only beating Andy by two seconds.

"Dad looks like he's enjoying some time alone with you."

"Would," Andy countered, relaxing his pose and pulling his arm around Sharon's shoulders, "if we were alone."

Nicole watched the gesture and Sharon going to hide behind his bulk and her glass for good measure. The look Nicole interpreted as coy at best. She couldn't help her smirk, which, if Sharon would have been looking, she would have noticed the uncanny resemblance between the two smirks she was awarded not five minutes apart.

"Good point," she responded to her father's correction with a nod, motioning to taking to her feet and leaving. The second Sharon glanced at her, attracted by Nicole's movement, she winked and told them, "Don't hurry back."

Andy's rumbling laugh sent her off while Sharon averted her gaze.

"Andy," Sharon hissed an admonishment, "don't be rude!"

"It worked, didn't it?" He laughed some more and leant to tell her, "Besides, she made the assumption and she wasn't annoyed."

"Even though." She picked his hand off from resting on her right shoulder. "You need to be nice to her. Jokes can backfire. If you want to keep mending bridges with your family, you can't be flippant about it, not for a single second."

With the hand that was so crudely displaced, he waved her concern off.

"Yeah yeah." Turning slightly more towards Sharon, trying to finish what he started. "What about building bridges?"

"What do you mean?"

In anticipation, though he was beginning to learn it was more uncertainty, she quickly wetted her lips, and once again his gaze was drawn away from her eyes. His hand searched along the back of the bench, as if having the correct pose would magically reward him with the right words.

"Sharon, I'd like to —"

Andy missed his change again, for her attention was totally focused back over his arm, towards the patio.

"Oh, look at the boys! What are they carrying!"

He watched Sharon wave at the boys, who went about like a progression of pack mules. When they replied, she waved them over. They just shook their heads, heading wherever they were heading to.

With a remainder of a smile, she turned to face him.

"So, you were saying?"

"I like spending time with you."

She was too surprised to smile at the unprompted comment, or to do anything for that matter, let alone really think about his meanings.

"I like spending time with you," she replied softly after some beats.

Good answer. He sidled even closer, inching his arm along the back of the bench.

"Alone?"

Her surprise continued, this time even for longer.

Before she could formulate an answer, they were interrupted, again.

"Here you sit!" came the shrill, unmistakable, voice of his ex-wife closing in on them. "Your poor daughter is all frantic trying to set up a barbeque while you two schmooze out here."

Andy barely shot a glance at her direction, still hoping against hope Sharon would answer. When her attention floated to his ex-wife standing behind the bench, he had to address the woman as well.

"She has a husband to help her. And where's our heroic son? He can help his sister out."

"You know he's running late. If he can make it at all."

The needle in her voice pricked him instantly, evaporating his patient mood into the solid foundation of burning hot anger.

"How would I know that? Nobody bothered to mention it."

The warm palm on his arm instantly shut him up and made him expel the air he had taken to gear up for other snappy remarks. The thank you was a pat on her knuckles.

"Nicole was just here," Sharon said levelly, "she expressly told us to stay. Does she need us now? Of course we'll come," she perkily answered her own question to gloss over the clash brewing and jumped to her feet, using both of her hands to wink a cue. "Andy, up."

Instead of following, he looked from one women to the other. The scowling look he received from one was comically countered with the big-eyed pleading he received from the other.

Still, he wasn't budging.

He was too smart to decide against his ex-wife, too cautious to decide against Sharon.

"Oh no, I'm not going in the middle of this triangle. I've been told to stay, suggested to go and ordered to come, I'm going to upset a woman no matter what I do."

The pleading turned to a squint.

"You do realize by staying you are upsetting both of us?"

"Yeah. But always side with the princess."

Sharon sighed, and if he didn't know she was above stomping her feet, he wouldn't have been surprised if she had.

"Andy, please! I'm asking, your daughter needs you. We can come back if we see she doesn't." The sweet, almost whiny tone turned into the one that communicated her squint almost better than the actual expression. "What did I just tell you?"

"Don't wheedle."

"I don't!"

"Yeah, you do." He couldn't help the chuckle as he reached for her hand. "It's adorable, but sit down."

"A—"

"Nah-ah! Sit. Be quiet. Respect my daughter."

He tugged at her hand, making her lose her balance and thus laugh as she pushed herself into a better equilibrium with the other palm against his thigh. He tugged again, getting her to land on the seat beside him.

"On second thoughts," his ex drily interrupted their negotiations, "I think the kitchen has all the syrup it can handle." She waited for her remark to ignite something, but when it failed to stop their gentle tug of war, she sighed in her frustration. "You two, it's nice to know you're happy, but for God's sake act your ages."

That stopped their battle of wills for long enough to watch her leave. Sharon pulled her hand away from his, sliding back against the backrest, watching the kois again. Andy reached for the bowl of strawberries next to him, silently offering her one.

When in acceptance her neck twisted enough to divert her eyes from staring straight ahead, he dared to comment, "That was probably the first time ever she said something positive about or to me since the divorce."

She bit into the fruit and chuckled.

After she swallowed, with an unfortunately accurate copy of his ex's tone, she pointed out, "'Nice'?"

"Why do all women have that tone?"

"Built-in feature."

He watched her finish the fruit, he gently touched her forearm, better turning to face her. Sharon mirrored, slowly.

"So where were we?"

Helplessly, completely lost to his intentions, she shrugged. It made him smile.

"Oh, yeah. Here." Emphatically he caught her eyes, repeated the question, "Alone?"

That made her smile and bow her head.

"Even alone." Throwing her hair behind her shoulders, she went to reiterate one of the things she would miss, "But I like your family."

"Yeah." Fleetingly he thought that was narrowing in on the territory where he wanted to yell at her. How dare she like being with his family, bringing it up with a wistful tone like that, if she wasn't willing to like being with him, more! But that was part of the talk, so to fill the silence he said instead, "I know you should bring Rusty too, but..."

"Yeah." She wasn't as certain. "Maybe now." Maybe not, if he still thought she was dating Andy. Or the other way around. Maybe after the talk. "If he wants. He's still a bit —" She bobbed her head to convey what words couldn't, being sure not to say 'if you' or 'if they' want.

"Hey, what if we had dinner?"

"Sure, we have dinners all the time."

Talking about future seemed comforting, to both of them. The coming fight couldn't be that bad if there could be an agreement of things following it.

"No, I mean you, me and Rusty."

"Rusty? Why?"

"Why not?" Well, that was an answer better than 'I'd like to know your family'. "He could choose where. As a thank you for letting me borrow you."

Laughing, she protested, "He is not my keeper!"

"Yeah. But he keeps you home too much."

The look he got was pure offendedness.

"You know I don't mean it as criticism on him — or you — just that you are amazingly dedicated, wonderfully responsible and extremely sensitive."

Sharon wasn't sure it sounded any better now, since she heard the 'obsessively', 'compulsively' and 'overly' he didn't say out loud.

"And yeah, I know your place is first with him. That's why for now I can only borrow you."

She was still dumbfounded, not sure of the things she could respond with that wren't an actual or a mental slap. At least he recognized Rusty's rightful claim to her time, but to suggest that...

Her musings were stopped by a ball rolling under the bench. Andy reached down, and threw it back towards the upper yard. When he took his seat again, Sharon cleared her throat.

"You have a nice way of framing criticism as compliments."

"The other way around," he countered easily.

"No, that's backwards."

"It's not." He sensed her dumbfoundedness again and took it to himself to to lean back closer, suggestively cueing for her, "Think about it — witch."

Her response was a scoff.

"What?"

"I'm too much of a lady to say what I'm thinking."

"Told you, you can call me anything you like." She still hadn't called him anything but by his name, he had noticed. Even when she clearly was thinking of other things to call him, she held back. Again to get closer, he slid his hand over the back of the bench, conspiratorially confiding, "And you're no lady, just a bitch trying to be all la-di-da."

"If this is how you charm women, I doubt the reports of your past successes even with the ditzy blondes."

"Do you want to be charmed?"

"No, thank you."

She deflected the attention by reaching for another strawberry.

"Why not? Would even up the playing field?" He offered his palm for the stem and as it touched his skin, he added, "Because you already charmed me."

Sharon paused mid-movement, studied him for a moment, trying to suss out his game. If he was angry with her, willing to yell at her, what was he trying?

Not finding a conclusive clue, she laughed it off.

"You're in a funny mood!"

It didn't stop his strain of action.

"Come on, be brave."

As she paused to look at him, and her gaze dropped to his lips, he knew he had her. To hell with talks and fights! Not much needed, he could pick the ripe fruits of —

"Sharon!"

Both of their heads snapped to look at the boys, bouncing excitedly on the balls of their feet not three feet from the bench.

"Can you come and help us with the new choreography?"

"Honey, I'm not a dancer."

"Your daughter is."

The faultless logic of the young.

"She is, but I don't know much."

The older boy stepped in to argue, "But you know what's a plié and what's a grand plié. And what's a passé and what's a dévéloppé. And what's a croise and what's an ecarte and an eff— efa—"

"Efface. Sure."

"So, could you come and read us our choreography and say if we do it wrong so we would get a head start on the rest?"

Excited, she smiled.

"You're getting a new dance?"

"New practice routine. We got the lists for it but we haven't seen it."

Another radiant smile and an answer she was going to make was stopped by Andy. Damn if he was letting her get wrapped up on some ridiculous dance thing smiling all prettily while he was having to listen to his son-in-law curse at a barbeque which wouldn't co-operate.

"Look, buddy, me and Sharon are a bit busy right now. Can't it wait for after the lunch? I can let her stay for a while."

The radiant smile was killed instantly. He would never stop wondering how quickly the squint could take over.

"Andy, rude." For the boys, she offered the smile, "Sure I'll help."

Andy sighed.

"Wouldn't your parents help you instead?"

Again he got a squint, of the even stronger variety, possibly even a scowl.

"Be quiet."

"Yeah, Grampa," the younger boy imitated, with a perfect scowl and a bunching of his arms, "Rude."

Andy's reaction was dumbfoundedness, Sharon's the glee of victory.

"See," she said with a raised brow. For the boys, she sweetly told, "Run ahead, I'll be right there."

When they ran off with another brotherly squabble about what no one could even suspect, Andy was again rewarded with the remains of a radiant smile.

It wasn't pacifying him.

"I might take issue on what you teach my grandkids."

"What? On how to handle you?"

The raising of her brows, with the twinkle in her eyes absolutely did not enable his anger at her.

"I let you get away with way too much," he sighed, resigned.

Sharon only shrugged.

"I know. I can't help if I'm just too charming."

"Go on, charm the rest of them too, what do I care." Like a small boy, he went for petulance, but she only laughed at him, raising to her feet. With one last attempt to get some compassion, he grumbled, "After all, I know it might be your last chance and you're really not that great."

She laughed even more, reaching for the last strawberry.

"For that, this is mine."

He watched her leaving him with a laughter, and as she rounded the bench, on impulse he slapped her ass and mumbled, "Witch."

In surprise, she stopped, turned, the strawberry still against her lips.

He was about to apologize for the transgression, when she swallowed the fruit, threw the stem at him and started to walk away.

A few steps later, she twirled around to add with a smile, "Asshole."

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><p><strong>AN:** _This ch was for the legendary Guest (I assume), who has been awesome to my creativity! A kiss interrupted, check (times how many?)._


	39. Twist

**A/N:** _Okay, this was supposed to be a scrap, but I was too lazy to go through the final chapter tonight. So, here's a bonus for anyone who wants to read some (more) inane banter. Just don't come complaining when the fit is tenuous at best and content airheaded. :) Skip, if you feel at all like doing so._  
><em>Ellie 5192, if I could favourite comments, that one I definitely would! Thank you so much! I'm glad it worked.<em>  
><em>Guest, no pain, no filled request. ;D Just admit it, you loved every bit.<em>  
><em>ProfTweety, oh no, turned out, I found the ex's kryptonite: FLUFF. She was like 'oh no, they just didn't' and I was like 'oh, sure they did! and see, now this too!' (and she hid her eyes and went into a catatonic shock). Me 1, ex 0. Finally.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Twist<strong>

Sharon felt a warm hand sliding across her shoulders. Having been people watching in the small confectionary wanting to be an ice cream parlor and a coffee shop, she needed to twist her neck to meet the face belonging to that hand. It was no surprise to find those familiar dark eyes looking down her. Waiting to see if he had anything important to say, she discreetly wetted her lips and pulled her hair to rest over the other shoulder.

Andy kept the eye connection for a few seconds, then leaned towards the table to place her dessert on its mahogany brown top. The hand on her shoulder never parted, not even when he had pulled fully straight and was looking into her eyes again.

"I like your new glasses."

That, she had not been expecting. New was a relative term on them apparently, since she had picked them up almost two weeks ago. Emily had been of the opinion that hipster schoolteacher was not the way to go. She hadn't known what that meant, only told her bought and paid for was not the moment to hesitate. Besides, she liked the clean simplicity. And hey, she got a comment from a man so they couldn't be that bad.

"You do? Well, thanks. I guess."

He smiled, patted her shoulder and went to sit across from her, the table so small their knees almost touched.

"Better or worse?"

She was already sipping her sinful dessert drink (she had stopped reading at the 'caramel' which was the third word in the description) and had to search to connect back to his topic.

"I'm sorry?"

"Your views."

He wiggled a finger in the general direction of her glasses.

Sharon watched the gesture, trying to think what he was getting at. A throw-away compliment she was used to, but a touch, a compliment, a stilted joke as a progression? He wanted to yell at her, he had made that clear a week ago. The nice, friendly, whatever, act at his daughter's she had understood (and, perhaps even appreciated), but she was surprised it lasted this strongly into their agreed dessert. Maybe a good sign?

"Same strength," she answered hesitantly, "but they are improving, yes."

She didn't look how he took her answer, opting to rather watch herself poking at her overly decadent platter of delicious things. Mentally she had prepared to spend the night nursing a sick feeling like a blanket.

"How can you eat after that barbeque? I'm still fit to split."

"There is a difference between eating and stuffing oneself," Sharon replied with a quick flick of a look over her glasses. Andy had approached the barbeque buffet with the attitude of a vacuum cleaner. If he had eaten meat, she probably would have had him attached to a heart monitor for the better part of the day. She had caught him loosening his belt by one. Chuckling at the thought, she added aloud, "Makes a change."

"What?"

"Splitting at the seams. You instead of me." He wasn't seeing the funny, so with a meaningful glance, she dropped the final clue, "Christmas."

"I'm not annoyed," Andy countered monotonously, glossing over the part where he had just realized Sharon had seen him assessing the tightness of red fabric against her curves.

"Yes you are." She twisted the utensil in the smooth chocolate, debating if this was the time to end the pleasantries, finally opting to let out quietly, "At least you were."

"Past tense. I told you, give me a week and my anger'll burn out. Well, the burn gets controlled."

Okay, so still mad at her. She should apologize, pre-emptively, if that would help things to go smoother. Apologize, admit the right of his anger, accept the blame.

"Truthfully," he continued, "I stopped being blinded by my anger about ten a.m. on Monday. At the latest. Just can't stay mad with you," he finished with a chuckle.

"But I still drive you to fits of... pure rage."

That was a sad conclusion.

"Yeah, you do."

The confirmation was even sadder. Didn't give much room for her one question. No one should live in the continuous presence of his or her trigger. A relationship certainly couldn't be based on that. Maybe she should forget the question completely and get over her silly ideas. Perhaps what they had now was just fine.

Andy clearly didn't need her participation in the conversation. He moved on by saying, "Though it's probably all my fault. This situation is..."

His eyes trailed to the side while his mind and hand reeled to grasp the right word to finish that. The job never got done since his gaze happened to land on a blonde walking in through the door.

Yes, the situation was, Sharon thought and plucked up the courage to face him.

"Look, Andy, I —"

Her words — which she hadn't fully thought out, it turned — stuck to her throat as she saw him looking somewhere off behind her left shoulder and, instead of it being in that far-away way of someone deep in thought, his eyes clear and focused clearly following something. It didn't take full two seconds to see what he was looking at, as a blonde, maybe thirty-something, with an overly sweet raspberry perfume and a glorified miniskirt to match the colour, walked past their table and towards the counter. His neck twisted to follow the woman's trail and from the way his neck jerked, she knew he looked at her at least twice from waist down.

Okay. So. Do you ask, plain and simple, a man who looks at strange women while out with you, if he wants to forgive you, date you and take you home? His, not yours.

No, you probably don't.

Well, that was that window blown then.

The caramel whatever sweet thing was not nearly sweet enough while she waited for Andy to focus back on the woman closest to him.

"Go talk to her," Sharon said drily as the interesting thing in the shop clearly wasn't going to be her.

"Huh?"

His eyes, when they finally bothered to shed her any view, were dark and impassive, with no smidgen of warmth.

"That woman," she nodded for further emphasis, "Go talk to her."

"Why?"

"Because you're interested in her."

He scowled, pulling his head back as if being burned with the surprise. That was not her intention; this was not a bite, just an observation.

"It's alright, Andy," she said plastering on an encouraging smile, "Go ahead, I don't mind."

"Sharon, we are having a night out."

"And? We are friends, if you want to chat a woman up, go do it. You don't owe me anything. Just come and tell me if you're leaving with her. I can get myself home."

"You don't think it'd be weird if a guy was dining with a woman and left her to come to hit on you?"

"No, if he told me she was a friend." And besides, they weren't even dining. And if the woman was wearing shabby jeans and a top so boring you couldn't even think of an adjective for, never mind a boring black jacket to obscure what little assets she might have... "She's looking around."

"Yeah." He glanced around and Sharon took the second to straighten her jacket. "Probably supposed to meet someone and he's running late."

"No, she's, looking."

"This is not a place to pick up people."

"Good as any," she said casually with a shrug.

Licking her fork for the last bits of the passionfruit caramel something while studying the woman at the counter, she missed the concentrated look and raising of his brows the gesture elicited from her company.

Seeing the woman smile to a few people (men) around the room, Sharon voiced her conclusion with a dry laugh.

"She certainly agrees."

Her tone made him scowl and look from one woman to the other before he returned to look straight ahead, leaning forward to transmit his seriousness.

"Sharon, why are you pushing her on me?"

"I am not. I am just saying that if you're interested, go, act on it."

"What makes you think I am?"

She hesitated to bring it up, to let him know she had been watching him watch ano— a woman. Oh, in for a penny.

"The way you looked up and down her legs as she passed," she said with all the right marks to convey superiority which, in this context, would transmit her indifference.

His smirk told her it did not. Still she vowed to keep trying.

"Do you know why I did?"

"Why do men look at women's legs? Your daughter says you're a leg man."

"Sharon, I only looked at her legs when I noticed she had the same shoes as you do."

Okay, that was unexpected.

"She does?" She leaned to stare at the woman's legs. Pink skirt — legs, long — heels, high. Black, delicate. "I don't have those shoes."

"You don't?"

"No," she kicked her foot from under the table to hold it up for inspection, just barely missing the table or the side of his thigh. "These."

"I know that," he sighed, thinking how short the woman thought his memory really was (after all, he had complimented her on them!) and swatted her ankle. Hooking a thumb behind himself he explained, "Those you wore at Nicole's... last weekend?"

Ah, the 'sexy number'. Well, the shoes were of the general style, but... He was a man, what did he know about shoes?

Tracing her eyes over every single stitch on the woman's shoes, Sharon tried to find a definite clue to prove him wrong.

Finding none, she had to ask, "Are you sure those are the same shoes?"

He twisted to glance back over his shoulder. It was just for a second.

"Yeah. Appreciated the short skirt, but... Look better on you still. And your skirt was pretty short too."

Sharon ignored the comment's innuendo and concentrated on the meaning. The woman's skirt was short. Maybe halfway to her thigh. Not overly short, in fact, something even she herself could wear without scruples. It did make the woman's legs look long and lean, even longer and leaner with those shoes.

Quickly she checked the rest of the woman's body. Not spectacular, but pretty. An eight, possibly. But her legs were the best feature.

Thirty-five, long legs, long lean legs, high heels and a short skirt. No way she could beat that. No matter how short a skirt. The man was a liar. A flirting, dear, liar.

Andy watched her — well, staring, there wasn't a prettier word for it — staring at the woman. Reaching the point where he thought to tell her to stop doing it, her head tilted and her expression softened.

He decided it was time for a small needle, all in good jest to highlight her odd behavior.

"Maybe it's you who needs to go hit on her."

Sharon's attention snapped at him, her face frozen in surprise.

"No, I'm good."

"Sure? It's no trouble. I can lend you my car if you pull."

Hiding her cheeks in her hands, she chuckled. She was being an idiotic goose.

"Andy, stop."

"Go on, I don't mind. She looks nice."

"Okay, I get it!"

"Hey, seriously no trouble. You don't owe me anything, so if you see someone —"

"Andy! Please."

She was laughing, trying to hide her face. He smiled at her reaction, the giggles, the hair flying about in the shakes of her head. Twice she tried to look at him, but dissolved into further giggles.

When she was somewhat calmer, Andy offered her the smirk that would all too easily come with a wink.

"See how that works?"

"I'm not interested in blonde women whereas you are."

"Stop listening to my ex-wife."

"And Provenza and everyone else who knows both of us?"

Now it was his turn to laugh it off.

"Those are just stories. I like fiery brunettes better than ditzy blondes. The former are too difficult and the latter too easy. Makes for the statistical bias." Before she could react, he tried for another sly needle, "And I thought blondes were your type too."

Instead of making her laugh, or even get the joke, she got serious. She poked her plate.

"I don't have a type."

"Everyone has one."

"I don't."

He studied her, thinking. Maybe she didn't have a type in that she didn't know what her type was. He firmly did believe everyone had a type. Not that it was what you should stick to. To go against that type could be exhilarating, liberating. It often was.

So, what would she need? Someone to round her off. Someone to make her think, feel and experience things. Be interested in her.

Me, he thought, please need me.

"I think your type might be good-looking, educated and cocksure," he laid out more surely than he felt.

She raised an eyebrow at the last word choice. He shrugged, he was willing to defend it if needed. Besides, adding just one thing he was famous for was good to throw her off the scent that he was seriously offering himself.

"How do you make that one out?" Sharon reaffirmed in words what her gestures implied.

"Easy. Must look good on your arm, so as not to bring you down. Must be educated or you'll get bored. Cocksure or you'll run circles around him."

Ten out of ten for underhanded compliments.

She rolled her eyes.

Yeah, nothing got past her.

"I'm a cliché," she concluded with a chuckle. "Why can't you say 'tall, dark and dangerous'?" Realizing her joke of dark as in moody poet could be read in two ways, and the dangerous having a specific meaning in their recent conversations, the second of each being a bit too close to the possible truth at the moment, made her correct. "I mean — Same outcome, fewer words. Uh, I mean, isn't that the standard? Reading teen romance and such. I always thought..."

Andy watched her flustering a little dumbstruck.

"Sure," he said slowly, "Call him anything you like. Men are not fussy. We care a lot more about who's doing the calling than what we are called."

Assuming the changing of position and the movement of his arm was going to result in something unnerving — such as a palm on her hand — Sharon looked away. Her eyes landed on one blonde, in a raspberry skirt, stacking boxes of something delicious to carry them out.

"I think she's leaving," she said for no one in particular.

"Yeah?" he answered still having his eyes glued on Sharon, "Maybe you should go and catch her before she does."

"Me?"

"Of course you. You are the one obsessed about her."

Really, what was this her focusing on other women? The blonde was nothing spectacular, didn't remind him of her daughter or anything. He had never seen her look at another woman with such intensity.

Trying to snap her out of the spell and trying to get her to tell him what the hell was going on, preferably at least laugh again, so they could focus on more important things (namely the discussion, fight, talk, whatever they were meant to have), he put on a layer of affected curiosity and asked, "Is this some twisted jealousy?"

"Yes," she replied instantly, still focusing on the blonde who was now moving back out of the shop. Sharon's eyes followed her out of the door and on to the street before she raised her hair back over one shoulder.

Andy again wanted to lean over to smell her neck like he had done earlier, under the cover of placing that delicacy she had teased him with ever since on the table before her. As Sharon turned to face him, he quickly redirected his eyes to meet hers. Her eyes wouldn't connect with his and she offered a faint smile and a lopsided shrug in effort to seem mockingly self-deprecating.

"Twisting things is my speciality, haven't you noticed?"

The truth of her joke made it feeble.


End file.
